


Crescendo

by Ceryna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kyoutani writes songs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Kyoutani Kentarou/Original Male Character(s), Yahaba and Shirabu are violin rivals, Yahaba plays piano and violin, and has a YouTube channel, and sometimes sings them, he also plays guitar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-07-11 10:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceryna/pseuds/Ceryna
Summary: When Yahaba isn’t busy with his music composition studies, he’s working to create instrumental covers of popular songs for his YouTube channel,ShigeruSound. And when he’s not busy with those, he’s pining for a singer he heard once on accident– and he doesn’t even know their name.Kyoutani is working towards a degree in music therapy. He plays guitar, writes songs– and is thinking about taking up singing again. He’s rediscovered his passion for lyric writing through listening toShigeruSound, a musician youtuber he found during his last year at Seijoh.*ShigeruSound1 hour agoHey all– hope you enjoyed yesterday’s video! I know I don’t usually post here, but I have a very important announcement to make– I’ll be in Shibuya tomorrow at the Q-Front Tsutaya for a meet and greet event...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After a few months of not writing, it feels great to be back ^^ I’m so excited to share this story with you all! I’m shooting for around 3k per chapter, and I have a few chapters already written– I’ll be trying to update about once a week (maybe once every two weeks) until I catch up with my current progress. 
> 
> Some notes:  
> I’m not sure exactly how many chapters the story will be, yet. Tags will be updated as the story moves along, and the overall rating may change down the road. I'll try and warn for specific content by chapter in the beginning notes. Also, this is full of very self-indulgent hcs... ^^'
> 
> That being said, I really hope you all enjoy this college/music au fusion! I am including links to the videos I reference in the story– you don't have to watch them to understand, but several of them are from the same channel, [sleightlymusical](https://www.youtube.com/user/sleightlymusical), which inspired me to bring this story to life. If you have a minute, hop over and give them a listen!
> 
> Edit 11/03/19: now with [cover art](https://twitter.com/painpackerrs/status/1191069942088634370?s=19) by the lovely painpackerrisingsun!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyoutani pulls up _ShigeruSound's_ latest video–
> 
> It’s a cover of a Weeknd song. Kyoutani has probably heard the original before, but the instrumental version is different, somehow more… soulful. Instrumentals have that effect on Kyoutani– he’s well aware he owns a lot of film soundtracks– but Shigeru’s are unique. 
> 
> Shigeru draws from the music around him and makes it his own. He pours his soul into sound, and Kyoutani hears it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Kyoutani!!

_Friday_

The notification for the new YouTube video pops up with thirty-one minutes of Kyoutani’s lecture left to go. Kyoutani grits his teeth, forcing his gaze to the board so he doesn't look. The minutes drag on, the words little more than a blur. His focus runs off towards the promise of music, and he has to lug it back with effort. He fills his notebook with shorthand on what the professor says about musical therapy theories, until those words fall short at the chime– 

_thank fuck._

The chime signaling the end of classes echoes across campus, and Kyoutani resists the urge to dump his notes in his bag and rush out of the room, barely. 

His professor wishes them a good weekend, effectively dismissing the class, and Kyoutani is the first one out the door. He tugs his headphones out of his bag, plugs them into his phone, and pulls up _ShigeruSound’s_ [ latest video ](https://youtu.be/RSTD1GxSjLg)– another of his violin looping pedal covers, according to the title. 

It starts off with his standard intro: a still image of Shigeru fizzles to life like a neon sign. He’s in dark jeans and a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up halfway with a skinny black tie. His face is obscured, nose and mouth covered with his trademark black mask. He stands in front of a Nord piano, chin turned down into his violin rest to support the instrument against his shoulder. One hand clutches a black blazer– thrown over his shoulder for dramatic effect– and the other holds the violin bow at his side. 

After a few seconds, the image flicks to black for a couple frames, then reappears, everything the same– except Shigeru now holds the violin bow out like a sword, pointing it towards the camera like a challenge. His channel name appears in English letters at the bottom in sharp, white script, lasting for another second or two before the image fizzles back to black. 

The first thing Kyoutani hears is the sound of piano synths.

Dim, blue-gray lighting fades in to reveal an indistinct, concrete-looking backdrop. The camera drops to Shigeru’s sneakers, highlighting his effects pedal before switching back to his soundboard, piano, and finally his violin. 

He sets the beat first, layer by layer. Patterns of rhythms emerge from careful use of his soundboard, fingers tapping on his violin, clapping, and a short beatbox sequence– which Shigeru performs _without_ his mask.

Double-tapping the video, Kyoutani rewinds so he can see Shigeru’s lips– and lets the video continue before he gets distracted. 

The image cuts to Shigeru’s hands as more piano synth chords filter in. His pale fingers dip elegantly over the keys, gently pressing down to create a more traditional-sounding piano melody. 

As Shigeru picks up his violin, the camera angle shifts to reveal his outfit of choice– from the neck down, anyway: it’s a grey t-shirt and dark coat, jeans, and Vans sneakers. 

Lifting the violin bow, Shigeru skims it over the instrument’s strings as he starts layering the melody. Two short sequences emerge to join the bassline repertoire– 

The image cuts wide, golden light revealing Shigeru seated on his piano stool. Chin dipping into the violin’s rest, he takes a breath and _plays._

It’s a cover of a Weeknd song. Kyoutani has probably heard the original before, but the instrumental version is different, somehow more… soulful. Instrumentals have that effect on Kyoutani– he’s well aware he owns a lot of film soundtracks– but Shigeru’s are unique. 

Shigeru draws from the music around him and makes it his own. He pours his soul into sound, and Kyoutani hears it. 

Kyoutani's pulse thuds in his chest, stumbling as the bass cuts out– leaving the sound of Shigeru’s violin echoing into that void– and tripping as it jumps back in again. The final chorus has him holding his breath, the instrumental fading out and background going dark. 

The blackness shifts to _ShigeruSound’s_ channel icon with an invite to subscribe, text scrolling in from below to thank someone named Ennoshita for letting him use their studio to film, and his usual disclaimer:

Crediting and linking the original song, followed by a statement that Shigeru arranged the composition himself. 

YouTube’s autoplay threatens to take Kyoutani elsewhere, but he refuses, setting Shigeru’s video to replay as he walks toward the south gate. Beyond it, his takeout karaage waits for him just a few blocks away.

The minutes it takes Kyoutani to get there are not quiet, no– one hand holds his phone, the other keeping his headphones steady as Shigeru’s music winds through him. The bassline grips his ribs, the piano notes edging them open so that when the violin arrives, like Kyoutani knows it will, it stutters his heartstrings. His fingers itch for his lyric journal. 

_Fucking hell, really?_

That thought isn’t prompted by anger, though an edge of it has him gritting his teeth. It’s more– he takes a moment to think– _disbelief_ than anything… That he actually _wants_ to pick up his pen, write words that are some semblance of lyrics down and fit chords to them… and maybe even dare to _sing_ them, despite what happened those years ago.

He cracks a grin, toning it down to neutral while he pays for his karaage, and heads back to campus in the direction of the music buildings. After a quick stop at the campus conbini for a cold green tea, he heads for the practice hall, glancing at the room availability roster. Friday night means more free rooms than usual, so Kyoutani doesn’t bother to pen his name down and heads for the stairs. He seeks out the fifth floor– then the last room on the left. 

It’s vacant, so Kyoutani pushes the door open further. This room, like any of the other practice halls, has a view out over the campus. From up here at this hour, evening lights flicker to life like fireflies, glowing against the rapidly darkening sky. 

Kyoutani flicks on half the ceiling lights, casting glare on the large windows and effectively erasing the night skyline from view. He unloads his bag on one of the few tables in the room, removing his laptop and digging out his lyric journal– a black moleskine that has seen better days. Unbinding the strap, he rifles through to the latest blank page, blindly finding a pen with his other hand. He uses the pen to bookmark in his journal and sets about unpacking his karaage dinner. 

Chopsticks find their way into his right hand, the pen taking up residence in his left. He works his way through the chicken, tapping his pen on the page, lost in thought.

The words come together in bits and pieces. Kyoutani jots them down in neat script– some are Japanese, others are English, and he scowls as something vaguely resembling French appears on the page. Pushing on, he keeps writing, letting the words run and the ink smudge as he changes his mind.

When his karaage box is empty, his tea finished, and his hands chopstick-free, Kyoutani turns his full attention to his notebook. _Huh._ He filled more lines than expected. He lets out a sigh, and in the absence of company, a smile escapes him. 

It’s shortlived– he still has to edit the jumble of words into actual lyrics. Words are crossed out, struck through with thin ink marks. Verses are scrapped. Sections are underlined, circled, arrows and notes stretching into the margins. 

Kyoutani sits back, pen falling from cramped fingertips. He blinks, staring at the pages in front of him. It’s been… an hour, maybe? 

He checks his phone to discover it’s been _less_ than that. Shaking his head in disbelief, he rises from the chair, scanning the room for a guitar.

_The acoustic will have to do._

Fingers wrap around the neck of the instrument and settle over the strings. He plays a few test strums, tuning the instrument just slightly before snagging his journal and getting comfortable on the floor. Moonlight washes over the pages, and Kyoutani feels his mind reeling, fingers playing sharps and flats as he figures out which keys fit the lyrics.

_His lyrics_. 

He makes more notes in the margins, marking up keys and shifts in blue ink instead of black. Before long, he’s broken through the first and second verses, chorus falling together amidst the waterfall of sounds in his head. 

The campus chime interrupts him before he reaches the bridge– it looks like that will have to wait, since the gates close in half an hour. Kyoutani groans, reluctantly getting to his feet and setting the guitar aside. He hastily packs up his bag, tucking in his notebook and slings his headphones back on.

There’s no way he can listen to anything else right now, so he uses his headphones to mute the outside world, diving into keys and notes as he makes his way to the metro stop outside campus. Hopping aboard the JR, he sinks into an empty seat, the music following him on the twenty minute ride to his apartment in Kinshicho. 

At some point, the music gives way to memory. 

***

_It’s a Wednesday afternoon at Minamisan Middle School, in the music club room when Jun Shibata changes Kyoutani’s future._

_“You should join our band!”_

_Kyoutani looks up from where he sits, tuning an acoustic guitar in his lap. “Huh?”_

_Jun huffs. “You should join our band!” he repeats, sitting down next to Kyoutani and offering him a grin._

_That grin does things to Kyoutani’s gut– something between butterflies and a fish doing somersaults– oh right. He should say something. “Why?”_

_Jun snorts, throwing an arm over Kyoutani’s shoulders. “Between me, Masao, and Yuuta, you’re the best at writing lyrics,” he says. “You’ve already helped us put some songs together, and the band doesn’t feel complete without you.”_

_Kyoutani’s ears redden at the praise. He glances at Jun, which might be a mistake– the stars in his friend’s eyes, full of hope, nearly blind him– and he stares down at the guitar instead. In his mind, he admits that thought of writing music with Jun has his very gay heart racing. So he bites his lip and grunts. “Fine.”_

_“Yes!” Jun nearly shouts, tackling Kyoutani into a hug. “Masao and Yuuta are gonna be so surprised when we tell them! Do you wanna come over and practice?”_

_“Okay,” Kyoutani says, his cheek squished against Jun’s shoulder. “Okay.”_

_*_

_They practice together for months before they’re anywhere close to good. Kyoutani learns how to play the piano a little– to impress Jun, maybe– but switches to an electric guitar after his parents surprise him for New Year’s. He, Jun, Masao, and Yuuta graduate from Minamisan and find their way to Aoba Johsai High School. They join the music club, and manage to survive joint study sessions and band practices– if their grades suffer, they know their parents will tell them to quit the band– it’s almost their summer break when Jun finds a lead._

_“There’s a music camp in Sendai!” he says, waving a flyer in Yuuta’s face and shoving one at Masao as they prepare for practice. “It runs for five weeks, right in the middle of our summer vacation. We can take classes, even play in a studio!”_

_Kyoutani reels from the information. Music camp. Music classes. Playing music in a studio. A fifteen year old’s dream come true. Jun presses a paper into Kyoutani’s hand, his excitement contagious._

_“Uh, Jun,” Masao says, “this looks like an idol training camp.”_

_Jun deflates a bit. “I thought it would be cool to go learn with you guys,” he mumbles. “To see what it’s like, how we can improve!” He perks up again. “What do you think?”_

_Kyoutani stares at the flyer. He’d be lying if he said he’s never thought about it– the four of them being scouted, releasing a debut album, performing on stage– he isn’t sure that’s what he wants. But a closer look at the class listings reveals guitar lessons, songwriting courses, and something else that jumps out at him: singing lessons._

_He’s never had formal vocal training, though he’s been singing since he could talk– his family can vouch for that. He likes writing lyrics, likes hearing how they sound in Jun’s voice, how that sound stirs something in his soul– and wonders what he could do with his singing._

_“I’m cool with it,” Yuuta says with a shrug. He accidentally elbows the drum set with the movement, earning snickers from Kyoutani and Jun._

_Masao bites his lip. “It sounds like fun...” he trails off, earning a whoop from Jun– “but I don’t think I can afford it.”_

_Kyoutani narrows his eyes at the flyer, scanning until he finds the cost of the camp. With room, board, and the tuition fee for the classes, a six-figure number in yen has his lips thinning into a frown._

_“Maybe we can figure something out,” Jun says, waving his hand. He turns to Kyoutani with a pout. “Kyou, you’ll come?”_

_Kyoutani shifts in his seat, bristling at the attention. He’d just need to convince his parents that he wants to go– the cost wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But... the band splitting up to learn at different paces? Leaving Masao behind?_

_“I don’t know,” Kyoutani answers gruffly. It’s his turn to bite his lip, trying to quell his racing heart. Going to learn more about music and getting to spend time with Jun sounds like a win-win… but he’s already guilty about being happy with the chance to grow as a musician when Masao can’t afford the same._

_Jun’s shoulders sag, his face falling further. His lip quivers. “Kyou?”_

_Kyoutani’s heart thuds painfully in his chest at Jun’s use of his nickname. He sighs, squinting his eyes shut against the weight of his crush. “I’ll ask,” he mutters, opening his eyes in time to catch the confusion on Jun’s face._

_Kyoutani rolls his eyes. “I’ll ask,” he repeats, and is rewarded with Jun’s smile._

_*_

_Summer blazes its way through Sendai, and within it, Kyoutani melts._

_He and Jun share a room in the program’s dorm, and commiserate over their training. They only share a few classes– theory, composition, lyric-writing and dance. Jun has lessons with the piano group, Kyoutani has his guitar class, and to their confusion, they’re in separate vocal training groups._

_The groups are small, only five or six students per, Kyoutani discovers– and they spend the entirety of their first week on warmup techniques and learning about vocal health. It isn’t exactly what he was expecting– when he tries to sing now, he has a lot more to think about._

_Tonight finds Kyoutani slumped over the table with Jun, comparing notes for their weekly theory quiz when an earthquake strikes. Furniture rattles, lights flicker, the building swaying as the ground shakes beneath them._

_Abandoning their studying, they slide under the table, bumping limbs and exchanging curses when the power shuts off._

_Kyoutani’s hand finds Jun’s in the darkness, brushing fingertips. He flinches away._

_“Scared?” Jun murmurs into the silence, chasing the movement and threading their fingers together._

_Kyoutani feels like crying. He lets out a shaky laugh, squeezing Jun’s hand. “Terrified,” he whispers._

_Neither of them are talking about the quake. They hold hands until the lights come on._

_*_

_The second week is worse than the first. Training amps up, lessons growing more technically intense, and Kyoutani and Jun are tired._

_Jun shuts his notebook. “Break!” he announces, nudging Kyoutani to do the same. He cranks up the aircon, and Kyoutani shuts his lyric journal, joining Jun on the floor. They lay together, like two starfishes, soaking in cool air–_

_Their fingers brush, and Jun stretches his hand to cover Kyoutani’s. “Kyou?”_

_A blush scalds the back of Kyoutani’s neck. He turns to face Jun. “Yeah?”_

_“Uh…” Jun’s cheeks bloom sakura pink. “C-Can we kiss?”_

_The blush stretches to burn his ears. He can hardly believe it– Jun, tripping over words that Kyoutani was thinking, too– and props himself up on his elbows. “Sure we can,” he says, lightly tugging at Jun’s arm until his face is all too close to Kyoutani’s, and then brings him closer._

_Lips brush and their teeth clack, but it’s gentle._

_When they separate, Jun stares at him, glassy-eyed and smiling._

_“See?” Kyoutani says. “We can.”_

_Jun laughs and kisses him again._

_*_

_By week three, their study breaks are makeout sessions. When they’re breathless after dance training, brains exhausted from studying, fingers threatening to fall off after their music lessons– they learn how to feel, to kiss, to hold each other close in spite of their fear._

_Week four is crunch time. Their lessons are culminating into a performance, to show what they’ve learned, prove that they’ve grown. Kyoutani loves singing. His vocal coach is impressed, and challenges him to grow more, making him promise to do so– healthily, she emphasizes. So when week five comes around, Kyoutani will be doing a song– or half of one, which is all he’s got arranged._

_He’ll be playing the guitar, and singing live for the first time in a while. He climbs the stairs to the stage, emerging from behind the curtain when his name is called. His guitar strap hangs heavy around his neck, the weight grounding him amidst the performance jitters._

_Kyoutani closes his eyes. His fingers close around his guitar pick, and he starts to play. Then, thinking of Jun, he opens his mouth– and sings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments help fuel updates! i'd love to know your favorite line, if you’re liking the story and characterization so far ^^
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)
> 
> Next time: Yahaba's POV!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ennoshita opens his mouth, tone carefully neutral. “Watari would like to... meet up.”
> 
> Yahaba narrows his eyes, growing more wary by the second. If that was all, Watari would have just texted. “Quit stalling and just give it to me straight.”
> 
> “You’re gay as hell, Yahaba,” Futakuchi says. 
> 
> “Give it to me gay, then,” Yahaba retorts, making a grab for his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Yahaba's POV ft. Ennoshita and Futakuchi. Please enjoy!!

_Friday_

_Bzzz._

Yahaba forgets what he was saying– if he was saying anything at all. His phone screen glows with a new notification alert, and his fingers hover towards the white box.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Ennoshita swipes the phone off the coffee table and out of Yahaba’s reach. Unlocking it with the passcode, he hands it over to Futakuchi. 

Futakuchi squints at the screen, scrutinizing the message before returning the phone to Yahaba. “It’s a nice one,” he says, sipping sake from his glass.

Yahaba takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to look at the screen– _that’s a lie._ He bites his lip, staring down at the notification.

It’s a comment on the video he posted to his channel a few hours earlier, one that reads: _my ears have been blessed._ He takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he sighs, trying to keep the relief out of his voice– and failing, by his friends’ shared smirk– "You’re right, clearly there’s nothing to worry about.” He tosses back his sake, pouring himself another shot. 

Post-video-uploading nerves are stupid.

The arrangement for his cover of _Starboy_ took him just days to complete _–_ but three weeks to get comfortable with playing it from memory, and a long weekend in the studio to film it. Then a whole month of working around classes and his job to edit it to be ready to upload. It’s long, hard work, but Yahaba loves it– composing, playing, and performing on his own terms. The looping pedal covers are his favorite type of video to shoot, though the few collab videos he’d managed to convince Shirabu to join him for are a close second.

Yahaba would never tell Shirabu that.

“What are you not telling Shirabu?” Futakuchi smirks, tipping back the rest of his sake.

Yahaba pinches the bridge of his nose. Clearly the alcohol had made its way to his head, loosening his tongue. “Nothing you need to know.”

“That doesn’t stop me from wanting to know–"

“Kenji.” 

Futakuchi cuts off mid-word, turning to his boyfriend. “Yes, Chikara?” he says sweetly, tangent interrupted. 

Yahaba silently thanks whatever higher power there is for Ennoshita. “Go be gross in your room,” he says instead, voice dripping in disgust.

“Tempting,” Ennoshita muses, causing Futakuchi to blush. “But who will vet notifications and keep you sane?” He finishes off his sake, raising an eyebrow at Yahaba over the rim of the glass. 

Yahaba rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Just like you _hate_ that guy who practiced in the music room next to yours last month.” Ennoshita smirks as Yahaba’s cheeks flush crimson.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” Yahaba climbs off the couch, hissing as he barely avoids stubbing his toe on the coffee table. They’d moved it right up against Ennoshita’s enormous couch so they could celebrate posting the video– read as _chill with the alcohol_ – in comfort. Yahaba’s socks slide on the hardwood, sending him lurching towards the sink– yep, he’s buzzed. He rinses out his sake glass, setting it in the sink and pulling a fresh cup from the cabinet to fill with water.

When Yahaba turns around, gulping down a swig of glorious H2O, Futakuchi wears a knowing grin. He opens his mouth, and– “well, someone’s _thirsty.”_

Yahaba coughs mid-sip, spewing water on the kitchen island. “That’s it,” he fumes, wiping his mouth on the back of his empty hand. “I’m leaving.”

“No you aren’t,” Ennoshita and Futakuchi singsong. Ennoshita holds up Yahaba’s phone. “We’re holding you hostage.”

“He means he’s muting all your notifications so you’ll relax and stop overthinking the feedback on your new video,” Futakuchi says, yawning. “Now, come back over here–” he slaps the couch cushion beside him– “and tell me about this hunk of a practice hall neighbor!”

Yahaba grabs two more cups from the cabinet, filling them with water and bringing those to the coffee table first. He traipses back into the kitchen for his own cup, and crawls back onto the couch. “To those who can thirst in peace– by which I mean you two,” he says, raising his water glass in a toast. “And we don’t know if he’s a hunk.”

Futakuchi props his elbow up on his leg, resting his chin in his palm. “Does he have a name?”

Ennoshita laughs. “It’s ‘Guitar-kun’ until we investigate further.”

“... Seriously?” Futakuchi snickers, but stops at Yahaba’s glare. “Okay, okay, color me intrigued.”

Intrigued is a good word for it, Yahaba supposes. He recalls the first time he heard them play guitar, long before they coincidentally were practicing in rooms next to each other in the music hall. His program adviser had just finished a campus and music building tour, leaving Yahaba to explore on his own. He’d been wandering the halls, poking his head into unoccupied practice rooms, walking slowly to see if he could catch any of the music being played.

He could’ve stopped at the third floor, but he went up one more flight of stairs to the fourth floor when he heard it. A breeze flitted through the stairwell, and Yahaba had glanced up, noticing that the sixth floor roof access door to the stairwell was cracked open. 

So he climbed up to the fifth floor, sneakers quiet against concrete, hands gripping the railing when he heard the guitar. The [melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVvUxlHmnI0) was quiet, slow– then the person began to sing.

> 眠れないのは 目が合ってから
> 
> _I can’t sleep because I see your eyes_

Yahaba’s world tilts on its axis. He’s pretty sure the voice is male– and even if it isn't, it’s _captivating._

> 淡いそぶりに 吸い込まれて
> 
> _I’m drawn to your transience_
> 
> 気づいてるの
> 
> _I’m aware_
> 
> 日が昇るのが早くなるね
> 
> _The sun rises early_
> 
> 穴の中から出て 行かなきゃなあ
> 
> _I have to leave this hole, don’t I?_
> 
> 行かなきゃなあ
> 
> _I have to go_

Yahaba’s pulse thuds painfully in his chest. He tightens his grip on the railing, losing himself to the words. 

> 恋人達は いつものように
> 
> _The lovers are, as usual_
> 
> 二人の中に 滑り落ちて
> 
> _Slipping apart from within_

The lyrics are gentle, so simple that the next words burn him.

> 樂しそう
> 
> _Seems fun_

Lovers falling apart... _Fun?_ The irony has Yahaba biting back a sob. 

Who the _fuck_ hurt them? 

> 聽いた事のあるような 響きの中
> 
> _You’ve probably heard it in the echo_
> 
> 止めないままで 続いてくな
> 
> _I’ll continue without stopping_
> 
> 続いてくな
> 
> _Keep going_
> 
> 続いてくな
> 
> _Keep going_

Yahaba exits the stairwell, slipping through the door to the fifth floor and shutting it silently behind him. He reaches for his phone, scrolling to the note where he keeps his video ideas, and stars the third one on the list.

He arranges a piano and violin cover of Billie Eilish and Khalid’s _lovely_ in record time, practicing and memorizing the music within a week, filming and editing it within another– from the time Yahaba heard them sing to posting the [ video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KFsJvgPfHg), with his standard description plus the words _keep going,_ was just over three weeks– 

“Shigeru?”

Yahaba startles back to the present, where his friends are staring at him. “Um.” His throat feels dry, so he sips his water. “Was I not telling you about him?”

Futakuchi blinks. “Did you get any of that, Chikara?”

Ennoshita sighs. “Yahaba, you’ve been glaring at the wall for the past five minutes and haven’t said a word about Guitar-kun.”

“Ughhh.” Yahaba tugs over a pillow and hugs it to his chest. “I was remembering the first time I heard him play,” he confesses, narrowing his eyes as his friends chortle. “I think it was an original song, I haven’t heard it anywhere since– and hell, his _voice…_ ”

Ennoshita’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, you heard him sing? I thought you’d only heard him playing guitar, and that was last month…” He frowns, considering.

Futakuchi does no such thing. “When did you hear him sing?” he asks, leaning out of the way as his boyfriend tries to elbow him in the ribs.

_April of last year._

“No way, that long?” Futakuchi blurts. 

Yahaba curses his loose tongue. “Oh, like you guys didn’t pine for each other for _years_ before getting together,” he retorts, lip curling up into a smirk of his own.

“So what if it took years?” Ennoshita replies smoothly. “You admit you’re pining?” 

Yahaba’s smirk drops. “Fuuuuuuuck.” He faceplants into the pillow. “Of course I’d hear him sing as soon as I get to campus,” he mumbles into the fabric. “Of course he has the voice of a god, _and_ he plays guitar– and _of course_ I haven’t run into him since. Of _fucking_ course.”

“Statistically speaking, you probably have run into him,” Futakuchi says. "But you don't know what he looks like, and his singing voice might differ from his normal speaking voice, so…"

"Statistically speaking, I'm fucked. Thanks, Kenji." 

Ennoshita sighs. "Are we starting all our sentences with 'statistically speaking,' now?" 

"Statistically speaking, yes." 

"Statistically speaking," Ennoshita says gently, and waits for Yahaba to look at him over the edge of the pillow before continuing. "You're Yahaba Shigeru, the genius that won an _international_ music competition, started a YouTube channel, grew his following into the thousands with his music, who can play five instruments… you can find this guy.”

Yahaba bites his lip to stop it from quivering. “You know I couldn’t have done it without you both…”

There’s weight to that statement that none of them feel the need to unpack, so Futakuchi takes the opportunity to smack the couch again, startling Yahaba upright. 

“Damn right you need us.” Futakuchi smiles, flicking Yahaba’s forehead.

_Buzzzz._

Yahaba’s phone screen glows with an incoming call notification. At this distance, Yahaba can’t tell who it is, but Ennoshita reaches over and answers it– so it has to be someone he knows.

“Hey, Watari, this is Ennoshita.” There’s a pause as he listens to whatever Watari is saying. “Hmm. Okay, I’ll ask.” He turns to Yahaba with a crafty smile. “Yahaba, are you free Sunday afternoon?”

A yawn escapes before Yahaba can answer. “I think so. Why?”

Ennoshita opens his mouth, tone carefully neutral. “Watari would like to... meet up.”

Yahaba narrows his eyes, growing more wary by the second. If that was all, Watari would have just texted. “Quit stalling and just give it to me straight.”

“You’re gay as hell, Yahaba,” Futakuchi says. 

“Give it to me gay, then,” Yahaba retorts, making a grab for his phone. 

Ennoshita leans out of the way, smug, and taps Yahaba’s phone screen. “You’re on speakerphone now, Watari.”

“Brilliant,” Watari says brightly. “Yahaba, would you be up for doing a ShigeruSound meet and greet at the Tsutaya in Shibuya Sunday afternoon?”

“I… you…” Yahaba’s jaw drops, words failing him. Eventually he lets out a yelp. _"What?"_

“A meet and greet for your YouTube Channel,” Watari continues without missing a beat. “It’d be two to three hours, hosted up on the 6th floor by the cafe. We had someone cancel an event– a book signing, I think? The spot is yours if you want it.”

Yahaba is wide awake. “Sunday?” he says faintly. “As in two days from now?”

Watari chuckles. “Yeah, I realize this is short notice, and it’s okay if the timing doesn’t work–” 

“It’s fine.” Yahaba crosses his arms, feeling his lips curl up into a smile. “I’ll do it.”

“Great! I’ll send you the details in just a minute so you can make announcements on your end, and I’ll let the company know what to expect.”

Yahaba slumps back down on the pillow. “Don’t work too hard, Watacchi.” 

“Same to you, Yahaba. Have a good night, you guys.” Watari hangs up, the _call ended_ screen showing on Yahaba’s phone.

Futakuchi snatches said phone off the coffee table. His fingers swish rapidly across the screen– it's a minute, maybe two before he finally passes the device to Yahaba. “You’re welcome.”

It takes Yahaba a moment to process that Futakuchi drafted up text for his meet and greet announcement. 

“You can edit and share it– in the morning,” Ennoshita suggests, pulling Futakuchi’s arms around him and leaning back into his boyfriend’s chest. 

Yahaba grimaces at the display of affection, jealousy sliding between his ribs like a knife _._ “I’m really leaving this time,” he says tightly, pocketing his phone and getting to his feet. He meanders to the kitchen, places his water cup and sake glass in the dishwasher, and heads upstairs to his room. 

The effort spent dragging himself up the stairs leaves Yahaba’s eyelids drooping. Shutting his bedroom door, he trudges into the ensuite bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Upon finishing the self-care he can manage with his eyes shut, he shuffles over to his bed and tumbles in.

Hugging a pillow to his chest, he falls asleep to the sound of guitars and the voice he wants to hear again. 

***

_Yahaba stands at center stage, staring somewhere past the spotlights trained on him. He’s only half listening to the judges. After four years of walking this same stage, the formalities are pretty much meaningless._

_His fingers wrap around the neck of his violin– they do not tremble. He brings the instrument up, placing his chin in the rest._

_“You may begin when ready,” one of the judges says._

_Yahaba takes that as his cue, raising the bow to hover over the strings. He promises himself that this will be the last time._

_His last time playing the same old classical music for the same old final round of the Sendai International Music Competition, his last time performing for the sake of his parents– the last time loving violin for everyone else._

_So Yahaba plays his goodbye, his good riddance, his anger, his passion– and his hope for a new beginning._

_He’d promised himself something else if he manages to take first place– something that would involve spending most of the cash prize money before either of his parents got hold of it. He’s made two lists: what he should buy if he wins first place, and what he can afford if he wins second._

_Third place was reserved for one Shirabu Kenjirou._

_No other contingency plans were made._

_Yahaba’s hands only get clammy after he finishes his piece– he’s forgotten the name of it already– and he bows, performance autopilot carrying him through the proper etiquette needed to leave._

_Ennoshita and Futakuchi stand with Yahaba in the lobby as they wait for the results. The three of them are too quiet, but with Yahaba’s parents less than two meters away, any conversation would be asking for trouble._

_After forty minutes of standing in uncomfortable, stiff silence, the results are announced. The judges call in the standard order, summoning the sixth place winner to the stage, then the fifth._

_Ennoshita holds Yahaba’s left hand, Futakuchi keeping a vice grip on his right. Fourth is next. Then third._

_When the judge opens her mouth to reveal second place, Yahaba feels like a vat of ice water was dumped on his head. He meets Shirabu’s eyes across the room._

_Adrenaline rushes through Yahaba like thunder. He bites his tongue– Shirabu is called before him._

_Shirabu is called_ **_before_ ** _Yahaba._

_Ennoshita and Futakuchi smother him in a hug– even though his friends crush his ribs, Yahaba feels like he can finally breathe._

_The judge announces Yahaba’s name, and his friends reluctantly part to let him walk up the auditorium aisle. It’s five steps up to the stage, and Yahaba imagines each of them cracking as he shrugs his burden off his shoulders._

_He’s applauded, praised with eloquent, empty words, and presented with a diploma and the ticket to the musical future of his dreams– a check for three million yen._

_Yahaba meets his friends’ eyes, offering them a shaky smile._

_The plan is a go._

_*_

_By some miracle, the bait and switch is a success. While Yahaba’s mother– or more accurately, her purse– now holds a discount coupon to a local supermarket, Yahaba has a piece of paper worth three million yen in his inside jacket pocket._

_Yahaba also manages to escape the formal reception as soon as he can, with nothing more than a flimsy excuse to go get real food with Ennoshita and Futakuchi– anything to get out of hors d'oeuvres and adults faking social niceties._

_Even if that means taking Shirabu with them._

_Yahaba couldn’t care less._

_The four of them walk down the block to the closest branch of the Japan Post Bank. With twenty some-odd minutes until it closes, Yahaba deposits his monster check into an account that belongs to him, and only him._

_The attendant stares at him with wide eyes but asks no questions. Under other circumstances, Yahaba might be offended by the look. At this point, he’s just relieved the deposit went through._

_They take the train to Futakuchi’s place, as it’s closest, and pile through the front door into the living room. Futakuchi passes Yahaba his computer, Ennoshita and Shirabu crowding around the screen. Yahaba brings out his list._

_A Nord Stage 4 piano. A new violin. An electric violin. An effects pedal. A soundboard. A new computer. Recording equipment– microphones, software, and such– and three cameras: one for him, one for film-hound Ennoshita, and one for Futakuchi._

_He offers to buy Shirabu a camera too, just to see his reaction._

_Shirabu tells him to shut the fuck up– and to get the Nord Stage 4 piano set instead of just the instrument._

_And to pick a better microphone set. And lights. And spare cords, chargers, a specific adapter for amps, and don't forget instrument cases..._

_He also recommends a company that specializes in violin bows._

_Yahaba is skeptical, but adds it all to the cart._

_*_

_Everything arrives at his dorm at the music academy within two weeks, and Yahaba lies to his parents about where the prize money went._

_Apparently, pairing the mysteriously vanishing money excuse– “I decided to pay the rest of my tuition to the academy in advance"– with another lie– “I'm interested in another international music program"– is enough distraction from the truth._

_Getting an earful from his father and secondary chew-out from his mother were the least of his concerns. The scholarship he applied for would cover both those expenses, no problem. All that Yahaba had to do now was compose something for his new YouTube channel._

_Taken from Ennoshita's advice to keep it simple and Futakuchi's suggestion to make it personal, Yahaba decides to name his channel_ 秀の響 _– Shigeru's Sound. He still isn't sure what he wants to do with the channel, exactly, or even how to get started, so he just puts his music library on shuffle and lists the first seven songs that pop up._

_Yahaba listens with his eyes closed. He has the option to choose, for once, so he lets himself be picky._

_It's the third set of seven when he hears it– the song he feels most moved by since starting the shuffle. It's not the most technically difficult, not something that would bore him to death with simplicity or falseness… it's beautiful and brutally honest._

_So he listens to the song, listens to it until he knows it like the back of his hand, and composes a piano and violin duet cover, playing both parts himself._

_He records and edits it with Ennoshita and Futakuchi's help. Ennoshita lets him film at his house, and Futakuchi styles his clothes and makes a website for Yahaba's channel._

_They click the upload button together, watching the progress bar fill until the upload is complete. When they refresh the page and see the video there, Yahaba cries._

_His music–_ **_his_ ** _music, made on his terms, for himself– is out there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments help fuel updates! i'd love to know your favorite line, if you’re liking the story and characterization so far ^^
> 
> some notes on this chapter: 
> 
> \- The Japanese lyrics featured in this chapter are from the song Disco by Mitsume. The English translation/interpretation is my own, and therefore may be different from other translations. 
> 
> \- The Sendai International Music Competition is a real thing! However, IRL it's typically held once every three years-- for the purposes of this story it is held annually ^^' 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)
> 
> Next time: back to Kyoutani!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **ShigeruSound**   
>  _1 hour ago_
> 
> Hey all– hope you enjoyed yesterday’s video! I know I don’t usually post here, but I have a very important announcement to make– I’ll be in Shibuya tomorrow at the Q-Front Tsutaya for a meet and greet event! It runs from 15:00~17:00 and will feature a short performance and time for autographs and photos. Check out the event listing on my website for the full details, and head over to Tsutaya’s page to get a ticket– the event is free, so space will be limited. Sorry for the late notice, and I look forward to meeting some of you! https://www.shigerusound.co.jp/events

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you to yall that have commented, kudosed, and subscribed?! glad to have you all here ^^
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: this chapter is mostly flashbacks that feature depictions of emotional manipulation. If that isn't your jam, you may want to skip the italicized sections of this chapter. I'll put a synopsis of the flashbacks in the endnote.
> 
> Addt'l content warning: a homophobic slur appears in one of the flashbacks. 
> 
> That being said... here's Kyoutani and *drumroll* Iwaizumi!!

_Saturday_

Kyoutani’s shoes _thud_ on the treadmill belt as he runs. Endorphins push him to increase the incline angle by a couple degrees, and he slows his speed to a comfortable jog.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow from the treadmill next to him. “You’re in a good mood this morning,” he remarks carefully, using a corner of his towel to wipe sweat from his forehead.

The treadmill belt whirs beneath Kyoutani as he thinks of a response. “I guess.”

Iwaizumi is quiet for a minute. His brow furrows, like he’s thinking of something to say, but doesn’t speak. Instead, he decreases his treadmill’s speed and looks away from Kyoutani.

That Iwaizumi can show concern and invite him to talk without actually saying anything is a powerful ability. It would be so easy to ignore the invitation– Iwaizumi wouldn’t fault him for it. 

Kyoutani sighs. “I wrote a new song last night.” 

The hints of worry lines on Iwaizumi’s face are quickly replaced with relief and a warm smile. “Congrats, Kyoutani.” He smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

Gratitude clogs Kyoutani’s throat. “Thanks,” he says gruffly. 

Of the friends he'd made after he split from the band, Iwaizumi was the only one that made an effort to stay in his life. Iwaizumi had kept in touch even after he left Seijoh to attend university in Tokyo, understood and shared Kyoutani’s passion for music, and was the only one who knew the gritty details of Kyoutani’s past with Jun. 

Despite being an hour and a half train ride away, he welcomed Kyoutani into his tiny Tokyo apartment for a long weekend, helping Kyoutani pull himself out of what felt like the lowest point of his life. For a while, Kyoutani felt indebted to him, but Iwaizumi waved off Kyoutani's attempts to owe him a favor– until he thought of a better idea.

> _“When you feel like you can’t talk to anyone about what’s going on, come to me,”_ he’d said. 
> 
> Kyoutani scowled. _“That isn’t a valid favor!”_
> 
> _“I don’t give a shit,”_ Iwaizumi said. _“You don’t have to tell me anything. Come over so you don’t have to deal with it alone.”_

Kyoutani slows his treadmill down so he can start cooling off. He looks up at Iwaizumi. “You got time for lunch?”

Iwaizumi looks back at him, gracing him with another smile. “Sure.”

***

_Kyoutani lowers his hands from his guitar, stepping away from the microphone. He’s greeted by noise– cheers and applause ring in his ears as his performance for the training camp draws to a close._

_Feeling overwhelmed, he heads backstage. His vocal coach congratulates him, says she’d like to see him grow even further, and presents him with her business card. Scrawled on the back are the names of two of her colleagues that work as private vocal trainers._

_Kyoutani takes much longer than he needs before walking out to meet Jun in the audience._

_Jun gives Kyoutani a quick hug.“You were great!” Stepping back, he raises an eyebrow playfully. “I didn’t know you could sing,” he teases._

_Kyoutani hopes his blush isn’t visible in the dim auditorium lighting. He protests, “Hey!”_

_“Fine.” Jun leans over to whisper in his ear. “I didn’t know you could sing that well. You’ve been holding out on me!”_

_“I didn’t– I didn’t mean to,” Kyoutani stammers. Guilt settles in his gut, uncomfortable and icky._

_Jun smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes._

_Kyoutani closes his eyes, hands curling into fists. His fingernails dig into his palms, and he wonders if Jun is angry–_

_“All this time, we could’ve been singing together!”_

_Slowly, Kyoutani opens his eyes to stare at his sneakers. “Sorry,” he mumbles._

_Jun pries one of Kyoutani’s fists open, placing his hand inside and gripping it tightly. “Don’t tell me it was ‘cause you like hearing me sing your songs.”_

_Kyoutani bites his lip, and Jun stifles his laugh on Kyoutani’s jacket sleeve. “So what?” Kyoutani glowers, trying to will his blush away. “They’re our songs. Ours.”_

_“You’re right.” Jun releases Kyoutani’s hand, patting it softly. “They’re ours.”_

_*_

_Their second trimester at Seijoh is off to a rocky start. Kyoutani and Jun are back to living with their families, back to band practice and studies, back to being careful of their actions and feeling watched at all times._

_Losing their place to be alone together hurt Kyoutani more than he anticipated. It’s a constant lump in his throat, making it hard to breathe._

_He and Jun are left with fake-accidental touches and stolen glances instead of long cuddles and soft kisses. Pained smiles instead of bright ones. Aching hearts instead of happy ones._

_Kyoutani swallows it down– for Jun._

_Jun isn’t out to his parents yet, so Kyoutani tries his best to keep him safe._

_Unfortunately, that means Kyoutani has to keep his feelings buried, locked uncomfortably in his chest._

_To make matters worse, he hasn’t been able to write any good lyrics lately– and band practice hasn’t progressed. This afternoon finds them crammed into Yuuta’s living room, minus their instruments for now since Jun had called a meeting._

_“Guys,” Jun says desperately, “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling like practice hasn’t really gotten us anywhere, lately.”_

_“No kidding,” Masao retorts. “That’s what happens when not everyone can afford fancy idol camps.”_

_Kyoutani winces._

_Masao is still bitter over not being able to go to the training camp– and Kyoutani understands that yes, it’s unfair and quite frankly, it sucks. But if Masao can’t get over it, Kyoutani is worried the band will fall apart._

_“I already told you my family decided to go out of the country at the last minute,” Yuuta says with a shrug. “I can’t fit my drum set in a suitcase, so practice was literally impossible. Sorry.”_

_Jun bites his lip, fingers twisting, and Kyoutani wants nothing more than to hug his boyfriend to his chest. “Look, Kyou and I already apologized about camp, and–” Jun pauses, eyes flicking to Kyoutani– “I’m pretty sure I speak for both of us when I say we’re not sorry we went.”_

_Kyoutani feels his neck heat with embarrassment. He swallows the ever-present lump in his throat. “We learned a lot,” he says quietly, feeling unhelpful._

_“So_ **_teach_ ** _us, then!” Masao yells, kicking his guitar case. “So what if you learned, you haven’t bothered to share it with us!”_

_Jun’s face reddens. Unlike his cotton candy blushes and rosy grins, this scarlet is full of anger. “It’s not like we haven’t tried!” he snaps, frustration and pain washing over his face. “But it’s hard to teach you when you don’t wanna learn!”_

_“Guys.” Yuuta speaks, but as Jun and Masao both turn on him, he looks like he regrets it. “Maybe it’s just leftover… summer laziness or something. I mean, Kyoutani’s worked with us to try and write new songs–”_

_“But he hasn’t finished anything, has he?” Masao says tiredly._

_Kyoutani opens his mouth to speak, but his words– whatever they would have been– are lost as Jun speaks first._

_“Like you could write a good song by yourself,” he challenges, smirking as Masao flinches. “Kyou’s done that a bunch already.”_

_“Good for you both.” Yuuta crosses his arms. “Since you want to debut so badly, why don’t you find yourselves a new drummer and guitarist– surely you met some good ones over the summer.”_

_Kyoutani stops breathing._

_Jun stands, swaying on unsteady feet. “Come on, Kyou,” he says stiffly, tone icy even as his hands shake. “Let’s go... We’re not welcome here anymore.”_

_Kyoutani’s gaze flicks between Masao, Yuuta, and Jun– and lingers on his boyfriend’s glassy eyes. Nodding to Masao and Yuuta, he gets to his feet, shuffling out of the room. He pauses in the doorway, turning to offer to try and find a solution, a compromise–_

_“Leave, you pansies.”_

_Any hope of consolation vanishes without resistance. Kyoutani follows Jun down the hall, shouldering his backpack and guitar case and tries not to run out of the house._

_*_

_The next day, Kyoutani and Jun quit the music club, and Kyoutani talks to his parents about getting private vocal training._

_They try to counter him with cram school._

_Kyoutani reasons that if he can’t keep up his grades while doing vocal training, he’ll stop it and do cram school instead– and says as much._

**_That_ ** _gets their attention. They talk a bit more after that, asking him how he thinks it’ll work, if he has a company or person in mind– and presents the business card from his coach at camp._

_His parents approve of him attending sessions twice a week to start– and on the three weekdays Kyoutani doesn’t have lessons, he’s with Jun._

_They have more time to spend together– only now, they can hold hands, kiss, cuddle, and be themselves._

_Well, at Kyoutani’s house, at least– even with his parents and siblings, it’s as private and accepting as they can get. So they take it, and take a break from playing music to focus on writing it._

_Fighting the urge to try melodies on their instruments is tough, but they make it work by listening instead– listening to songs in other languages, other styles and genres, studying cadence and rhythm, verse and rhyme… along with all their other actual school subjects._

_In Kyoutani’s case, he’s juggling all of that on top of his vocal training sessions– so maybe his grades slip a little. His mom asks him about it one evening, after Jun has gone home. Her worry lines don’t show on her face, but Kyoutani can see them._

_“I know I’m not the best student,” he says, looking up to meet her eyes. “But I’m…” he pauses, deep in thought. “I’m happy where I am right now.”_

_His mom smiles, ruffling his hair, and pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad.”_

_*_

_Autumn fades into winter, and December yields to January._

_Jun invites Kyoutani to go to his local shrine on New Year’s, and they meet at the station– all bundled up in winter coats, scarves, and gloves._

_“I know you’re supposed to start the new year on a good note,” Jun says as they head up from the metro platform. “But... I have some bad news.”_

_Slowing his steps, Kyoutani turns to face his boyfriend. “What’s up?” he asks, voice hoarse in the surrounding cold._

_“I’m grounded until further notice.” Jun bites his lip, hesitating. “And by_ **_grounded_ ** _, I mean my parents stuck me in cram school– which is basically the same thing, since it means I can’t come over to yours anymore.”_

_“What?” The question comes out as a gasp._

_“... My grades tanked last trimester,” Jun admits with a sheepish grin. “I guess we really got distracted, yeah?”_

_Kyoutani shivers. “... Distracted?” he says, voice breaking on the last syllable._

_“Yep.” Jun shrugs, leaning closer to Kyoutani. “Can you blame me, though?” he whispers, his breath warm on Kyoutani’s cheek. “See, I have this realllllly cute and talented boyfriend, and he’s a musician, and–”_

_“Stop.”_

_The word comes as a surprise to both of them– Kyoutani tries to understand what made him speak, while Jun reels back as if slapped. “Kyou?”_

_Kyoutani tries to be gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling with your studies?”_

_“I– I wasn’t struggling,” Jun begins, “I just didn’t… well, you know… study?” He scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk. “I was having fun studying music with you!”_

_“Jun,” Kyoutani says, chest growing tight. “Studying music with you is fun, yeah. I really like spending time with you. I’m just…” He sighs. “You’re making me feel guilty, alright?”_

_Jun blinks._

_“I feel like you’re calling me– your boyfriend– a distraction!” Kyoutani huffs. “And you’re blaming_ **_me_ ** _for your decision to not study–”_

_“I wanted to be closer to you!” Jun interrupts hotly, sniffling against the cold. “Wait... are you saying your grades are fine?”_

_Kyoutani blanches. “I mean… yeah?” It comes out sounding like a question. “They weren’t as good as the first trimester, but I only went from fourth to sixth in my class.” He shrugs. “My mom and I talked about it. We’re okay.”_

_Jun frowns– it’s as close of a look to fury that Kyoutani has ever seen on him– and laughs, the sound colder than ice. “You’ve got it really good, Kyou, you know that? Your family knows you’re spending time with me, they know you’re gay– and they accept you for it, too– hell, of course they’ll still let you pursue music.”_

_The guilt spreads like fire in Kyoutani’s gut._

_“Meanwhile,” Jun continues, “All my parents know is that I gave up music club, I’ve been spending all my time at your place, and my grades are crap. They think I’ve been goofing off with you, and now they’re punishing me with juku* and–” he hiccups– “they took away my piano.”_

_Kyoutani yanks Jun into a hug. They huddle together like that for a while, trying to shield each other from the cold that stretches beyond the freezing temperatures outside._

_“I think–” Jun shivers in Kyoutani’s arms. “I think we should s-stop seeing each other.”_

_“No.” Kyoutani hugs Jun tighter, now all too aware that this may be one of their last times to be with each other for a while. “I’ll still see you at school–”_

_Jun chuckles, but the sound is empty of humor. “We’re not even in the same class.”_

_Closing his eyes, Kyoutani lets Jun out of the hug. When he opens them, tears cling to his eyelashes, blurring his vision. He tries to think of something, anything–_

_“Hold on,” he mutters, unzipping his jacket to reveal his Seijoh pullover hoodie. Tucked into the massive hand pocket is his lyric journal– he never quite knows when inspiration will strike– and pulls it out. He smooths the cracking leather with his fingers before shoving it to Jun’s chest._

_Jun stumbles back, wide-eyed._

_Kyoutani’s cheeks heat under Jun’s stare. “Take care of it for me.” He looks away, pulling his scarf up to hide his pout. “We still have songs to finish writing.”_

_Jun tucks the journal inside his jacket, securing it before zipping it back up. “Thanks, Kyou,” he murmurs._

_Kyoutani grunts. He shivers, looking around, and spies a conbini across the street. “Let’s get hot tea,” he says, taking Jun’s gloved hand in his and leading the way– and, in doing so, completely misses the way Jun’s mouth curls into a satisfied smirk._

_*_

_The trimester kicks into full gear, dragging Kyoutani along for the ride._

_He has far too much time on his hands– now that Jun is off at cram school, he barely sees him– and his afternoons are lonely. On a whim, he drops by the music club room after school to see if they’d take him back._

_Masao and Yuuta stare at him with dinner-plate eyes. Kyoutani ignores them, searching out one of the senpais to get them to accept his club form. The only one that doesn’t flinch when they see him is Iwaizumi._

_Iwaizumi doesn’t even read his form. “It’s good to see you,” he says, clapping Kyoutani on the shoulder– and just like that, Kyoutani knows he won’t be allowed to rejoin the club._

_Iwaizumi steers them over to the corner of the room. Lowering his voice, he continues, “You missed some stuff while you were gone.”_

_Like Kyoutani doesn’t know that. “... Was it important?”_

_Iwaizumi jerks his thumb in Masao and Ryuuta’s direction. “Those two had some_ **_choice words_ ** _to say about you and Shibata.”_

_Kyoutani swallows. “Oh.” Something about the way Iwaizumi says those words– Kyoutani knows he means slurs._

_“I told them that if they use those words again, if any rumors sprung up, I’d kick them from the club and refer them to Nishikawa-sensei.”_

_Nishikawa-sensei was in charge of disciplinary action. Kyoutani’s shoulders sag in relief._

_Unfortunately, the respite doesn’t last long._

_*_

_The first trimester of Kyoutani’s third and last year at Seijoh is Murphy’s Law incarnate._

_Rumors start flying, and the whispers don’t stop._

_Iwaizumi has started university in Tokyo, and Kyoutani hasn’t seen Jun at school in days._

_Jun’s last messages say that his parents have booked him for more cram school over their summer break, specific to a university in Kyushu._

_Kyoutani asks how the songs are coming along._

_No answer is answer enough._

*

_His answer arrives on a Tuesday. It is late July and cloudy, a monsoon blowing in off the coast. Kyoutani is working on his summer homework, flipping through textbooks and listening to the radio on his computer when he hears it._

_He recognizes the voice first. It’s young, sweet, and has Kyoutani’s heart in shambles._

_It’s Jun, singing verses that he and Kyoutani had written with each other,_ **_for_ ** _each other–_

_Kyoutani’s pen falls from his fingers, clattering to the floor, but he doesn’t hear it– how can he, when he’s surrounded by the sound of his heart shattering to pieces._

***

> **ShigeruSound**
> 
> _1 hour ago_
> 
> Hey all– hope you enjoyed yesterday’s video! I know I don’t usually post here, but I have a very important announcement to make– I’ll be in Shibuya tomorrow at the Q-Front Tsutaya for a meet and greet event! It runs from 15:00~17:00 and will feature a short performance and time for autographs and photos. Check out the event listing on my website for the full details, and head over to Tsutaya’s page to get a ticket– the event is free, so space will be limited. Sorry for the late notice, and I look forward to meeting some of you! https://www.shigerusound.co.jp/events

“... Okay. Where’s the ghost?”

“Huh?” Kyoutani looks up from his phone. 

Iwaizumi studies him, nonplussed. “You’ve been staring at your phone, pale as… rice, damn it. What am I supposed to think?”

A strangled laugh escapes Kyoutani. “Not a ghost,” he mutters, passing his phone to Iwaizumi.

His friend scans _ShigeruSound’s_ YouTube post, uneasiness slipping into a sly smile. “Not a ghost,” Iwaizumi confirms. He taps the screen and lets out a surprised cough. “Looks like they’re almost out of tickets–” 

Kyoutani’s mouth falls open in horror. He steals the phone right back, pointedly ignoring Iwaizumi’s laughter, and hastily fills out the ticket request form on Tsutaya’s site. 

The webpage decides to stutter to a halt _after_ he presses the submit button. _Shit._

He mashes his thumb on the button several more times– to no avail. “Fuck.”

Iwaizumi chokes on his tofu. “I was kidding– did they seriously sell out?”

“... Website decided to take a shit.”

Setting down his chopsticks, Iwaizumi motions for the phone. Holding it where Kyoutani can see, he waits five seconds before pressing the submit button once more.

Like magic, the page processes the form, loading a new screen.

_Thank you for your request!_

Kyoutani blinks.

_You should receive a confirmation email shortly_. 

“... What the fuck.” 

Iwaizumi pats his shoulder reassuringly. “There, there,” he jokes, trying not to laugh.

Kyoutani huffs, digging into his now lukewarm tonkotsu ramen. He clenches his phone in his left hand, staring down the screen until the promised email notification pops up. 

“Do you have something you want him to sign?”

Kyoutani finishes off his noodles before nodding. “My journal.” 

Iwaizumi offers him a grin. 

The significance of the journal goes without saying– Iwaizumi had been the one there when Kyoutani bought it. He’d invited Kyoutani to spend his birthday weekend in Tokyo, stood by Kyoutani in the MUJI store in silent support as Kyoutani picked up the black moleskine journal, holding it gingerly in his hands for several minutes before finally buying it.

In that moment– when Kyoutani dared to let lyrics back into his life– it was Shigeru’s music that helped him find the nerve to do so. 

Kyoutani’s mouth curls into a faint smile. 

He’s looking forward to tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *juku - Japanese word for 'cram school'
> 
> chap synopsis:  
> Kyoutani performs at the training camp, and his singing abilities surprise Jun. Upon returning to Seijoh, Kyoutani and Jun's musical abilities have improved significantly, and their bandmates are frustrated. After a heated exchange, the band splits, and Kyoutani and Jun pursue music on their own– Kyoutani starts attending private vocal training. Kyoutani and Jun's grades slip, Jun's enough that his parents send him to cram school and forbid him from seeing Kyoutani. Kyoutani entrusts his lyric journal to Jun, only to never see it again– over the summer, he hears Jun singing lyrics from the journal on the radio, and realizes he's been betrayed.
> 
> *
> 
> comments help fuel updates! i'd love to know your favorite line, if you’re liking the story and characterization so far ^^
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)
> 
> Next time: Yahaba POV and the ShigeruSound meet and greet!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futakuchi snorts, the noise echoing in the small bathroom, and places a palm on Yahaba’s shoulder. "Just channel your inner _you,_ Yahaba. Don't worry." His mouth curls up into a pointed smile. "You might lose some subscribers, but we'll still be here."
> 
> Yahaba narrows his eyes, seething. "Fuck you."
> 
> "Excuse you, that's my job," Ennoshita says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, the moment we've all been waiting for...  
> they meet!!! 
> 
> this has been one of my favorite chapters to write so far, and i'm incredibly excited to share it with you all.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Sunday_

Yahaba stares down the Tsutaya bathroom mirror, his reflection peering back at him with anxious eyes. His smile, crooked with apprehension, hides beneath his mask– he checks to be sure the straps are secure around his ears. At least he didn’t have to worry about his outfit. 

Futakuchi styled him in dark grey jeans, a classic white button down and a lilac crewneck sweater. The shirt collar peeks out just slightly from beneath his sweater, and Yahaba is thankful for Futakuchi’s gift of making him fashionably comfortable for the occasion– whether that’s filming for his channel or for an event like this.

_Deep breaths._

He has five minutes until he appears as ShigeruSound, five minutes until he walks out and performs for a whopping two hundred people– max attendance, according to Watari.

The tickets had vanished within three hours of posting his announcement on YouTube.

"You'll be fine," Ennoshita says matter-of-factly. "You'll start out with a brief introduction, perform your cover you posted yesterday live, and then–"

"Channel my inner Oikawa-san while I greet everyone. Got it." Yahaba pauses for a moment, considering what just came out of his mouth. "Don't tell him I said that."

Futakuchi snorts, the noise echoing in the small bathroom, and places a palm on Yahaba’s shoulder. "Just channel your inner _you,_ Yahaba. Don't worry." His mouth curls up into a pointed smile. "You might lose some subscribers, but we'll still be here."

Yahaba narrows his eyes, seething. "Fuck you."

"Excuse you, that's my job," Ennoshita says.

The dry humor has the tension slipping from Yahaba's shoulders. He braces his hands on the sink counter and pushes off, willing his fingers to stop shaking.

Remarkably, they listen. The muscles relax. His hands feel light– free. Yahaba takes a deep breath, scanning his reflection once more.

This time, his eyes are bright with excitement.

A crowd of two hundred?

Compared to the stifling expectations of his parents, two hundred is nothing.

_ShigeruSound_ walks out of the bathroom arm in arm with his chief videographer and fashion director, ready to face the music. 

*

He’s greeted with a cacophony of whispers and camera shutters. Yahaba blinks rapidly against the bright lighting, and he… might not be quite as ready as he thought. He fiddles with the collar of his sweater, jostling the wireless mic Watari gave him, and forces himself to stop before he accidentally makes the equipment screech.

Although he avoids a screech, the mic makes a low whine through the room, bringing the background noise to a halt. 

Yahaba considers speaking into the stillness… _which words would be best?_

These people– his subscribers, he reminds himself– are gathered here because of his music. What better way to reach them, to break the ice than with something they both find familiar?

He steps directly to his violin, displayed in its case on a music stand. His effects pedal is on the floor just beneath it, next to a mahogany barstool. Yahaba takes a seat, gingerly picking up his violin and checking the wireless mic on it, which hovers over the strings by the chin rest.

Yahaba exhales slowly in relief– holding the instrument anchors his mind, and muscle memory takes care of the rest. Pressing the tips of his sneakers to his effects pedal, the bass and background melody tracks start to play. 

He gives himself two measures, eight beats each to pick up his bow and nestle his chin in the violin rest. His fingers know the strings, have broken and repaired them– have fallen in love with hundreds of songs with them, over and over again.

Yahaba performs his rendition of _Starboy,_ letting his music speak for him. 

And when the song closes, when he shuts off the effects pedal, lifts the bow from the violin strings, and finally looks at his audience…

He sees awe, smiles, maybe a few glassy-eyed people– and applause rumbles through the room like thunder. Before the adrenaline rush from performing completely dissipates, he gets to his feet, bowing deeply. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. The mic carries his voice through the room’s speakers, applause dying down. “Thank you all for coming out here on such short notice. It’s nice for me to step back from the music– even though I compose and play, I wouldn’t be here without you taking the time to listen.” 

Placing his violin and his bow back in the case, Yahaba meets the eyes of some small children in the very front. A smile blooms behind his mask. “Whether you discovered my music days ago, months ago, with yesterday’s video or even my first one those years ago– I’m grateful. I look forward to creating more music in the future.”

Yahaba glances over towards the corner of the room where Watari is standing– Watari gives him a thumbs up, signaling that the staff are ready to transition over to the greeting and photos portion of the event.

"I'm going to kick off the official meet and greet now," Yahaba announces. "You all know me as Shigeru– it's my turn to get to know you all, so the staff will explain how this is going to work." He throws up a peace sign, and is rewarded with a few giggles and squeals from the crowd.

One of Watari's colleagues takes over the mic, directing the guests to line up along the far wall.

Yahaba uses the time it takes them to get organized to mentally prepare himself for the conversations ahead. A good hour and forty-five minutes of camera shutters and casual conversation with strangers– hopefully without any terribly personal questions.

_Deep breaths._

Ennoshita and Futakuchi appear behind him, wearing matching grins. Ennoshita holds the receiver for Yahaba's wireless mic, switching it off and unhooking the mic from Yahaba's collar.

"You're doing great," he says quietly. "We'll be right behind you– if you need us, you know what to do."

Futakuchi holds up a container of pens– for signing whatever the guests want Yahaba to autograph.

Steeling his nerves, Yahaba takes a pen, turning to face the first subscriber in line. To his surprise, it's a young girl and her mother that wait for him.

The mother bows instead of shaking Yahaba's hand. "My daughter, Miyuki, loves your videos," she says, patting Miyuki's shoulder.

Miyuki stares up at Yahaba with wide, glittering eyes. "Your music inspires me!" she exclaims, full of energy. "I practice my viola every day!"

Yahaba's heart melts. He temporarily suspends his aversion to young children, kneeling down beside Miyuki. "Let's get a photo, yeah?" he says brightly, holding up a peace sign.

Miyuki does the same, showing off missing teeth as she grins for her mother. The shutter noise clicks, Miyuki's mother thanking him with another bow, and then she and her daughter are gone.

Next up is a trio of girls. They introduce themselves as the co-captains of an orchestra club from a high school in Saitama. One of them has a Polaroid, which leads to Futakuchi offering to take three group photos– Yahaba signs each one with _ShigeruSound_ in practiced, English script.

He poses for countless pictures over the next hour– all with cell phones after the Polaroid trio– and plasters his autograph on t-shirts, headphones, and notebooks alike. Strangers present him with names he forgets seconds after hearing them.

He collects their stories instead.

Struggling students that use his music to study, young violinists that look up to him, those that left music behind and came back to it, newly inspired– and those that listen to his music to help with mental illness.

The emotional roller coaster doesn't stop. Yahaba is asked for advice by several of the young people he's somehow inspiring, questions like how hard did he study composition, how best to practice, what motivates him to make music...

Composing music is a lot like engineering, in a way. Yahaba takes in music, breaks it down into all its components so he can hear each one, feel how it works, and understand why they all work together– then he creates his own version.

He tries to explain that "best" varies from person to person. Practice is practice– in the end, it's finding what works well enough for you that matters. Doing your best all the time and holding yourself to impossible standards are easy ways to burn out.

As for what drives Yahaba to make his music– a popular question he's been asked over and over this afternoon– he's surprised by the variety of answers he's been able to give. But each is the truth: his music isn't drawn from only one thing.

When he first started the _ShigeruSound_ channel, spite was a huge motivator in producing his music. After being forced into the classical realm and being told that his talent was there– and _only_ there– Yahaba had yearned to prove he was fully capable of performing and eventually composing for other genres of music. 

Some of it stems from resenting his parents' overinvolvement in his music career– how they had their own agenda for his success. That was a bitter thing to swallow, especially since they nearly ruined his love of music.

Yahaba had questioned if he really enjoyed playing violin on and off for years. He'd grown up with private lessons, then graduated to attending a music academy full time, devoting _years_ of his musical career to playing classical, and competitively– things he didn't enjoy.

The concept of _ShigeruSound_ changed that.

It changed everything.

A few brave souls ask Yahaba if he's ever thought of quitting music. He adds three marks to his mental tally of how many times he's had to think of an answer longer than one word.

The answer is, _obviously._

But leaving it there defeats the purpose of addressing the question at all. He's thought of ditching music many, many times– yet he's still here. So he rolls with that, figuring out new ways to spin the story.

_Quitting music would have hurt more than sticking with it until he could rediscover what he loved about it._

Yahaba couldn't give up music. Once he was able to play what he wanted, perform how he imagined– the music was his.

Once he could be selfish with it, there was no going back. 

And now he’s here–

Living the life he wants, playing the music he loves, and right now, meeting some of the people that helped make it possible– from the other side of the screen.

Yahaba glances at Ennoshita in between greeting his subscribers, his friend holding up two fingers– about twenty minutes left until the event wraps up. The line has shrunk considerably, the crowd thinning out to leave Yahaba with more room to breathe.

He sighs, a wave of regret washing over him. He'd feel better right now if he'd taken a short break earlier. His stubbornness came back to bite him– not for the first time, and definitely not the last.

There's maybe... Yahaba's eyes pass over the strangers, not really seeing them– fifteen people or so left? He stops himself from counting them, returning his focus to the person in front of him. They deserve his full attention, even if he can only spare a minute.

Yahaba's feet are tired from standing, but do not ache. After scrawling his name on whatever his subscriber handed him, they part ways– Yahaba closes his eyes for a moment, straightening his spine.

So maybe he lets himself run on autopilot to get through meeting people just a little quicker– as rehearsed as his words are, they aren't any less authentic– and then there's just ten people left.

Nine doesn't say much _._ She holds out her phone to Futakuchi, who snaps a photo of her and Yahaba, and bows profusely before hurrying away.

Eight tells Yahaba that he's been a fan since the beginning, and passes his phone to Futakuchi as well, holding up a peace sign.

Yahaba does the same, stifling a yawn. He blinks his eyes open for the photo when there's a _tug_ at the base of his mask.

The same fingers that held the peace sign– close to _both_ their faces, Yahaba realizes– reach around the edge of the fabric under his chin, snagging it and _ripping–_

taking breath in his lungs along with it.

Shock is a vile thing. In this moment, it slows things down, heightening Yahaba's awareness while simultaneously numbing physical movement. His hands are frozen in their path to cover his mouth, and his ears ring, the straps that held his mask to his face releasing with a muffled _thwap._

But before his mask falls away completely, before his fingers can stretch up to protect his face, his entire field of vision cuts to black–

as something blankets over his head.

A large piece of heavy fabric drapes on top of Yahaba's head, and this time, the shock enables him to breathe, to move–

Startling out of paralysis, slow motion shifts to fast forward. Yahaba's fingers grip the fabric tightly, holding it steady around his face as he lurches blindly toward where he last saw Futakuchi.

His friend steadies him around the shoulders, immediately curling an arm around the middle of Yahaba's back– effectively separating Yahaba from whoever decided to be a total asshat. Futakuchi starts leading Yahaba away when someone speaks. 

At first, Yahaba thinks it's Futakuchi, trying to talk to him, to calm him down, but the voice isn't his, and it's not Ennoshita's, either–

"Respect his privacy, shithead," someone actually _growls._

Those four words send shivers up Yahaba's spine– relief that someone understood, intervened, spoke up on his behalf– they echo in his ears, intense enough that he misses whatever Futakuchi might be saying.

Somewhere in his mind, he imagines Ennoshita clamping a palm down on the asshat's shoulder, digging in with metaphorical claws– "Just what do you think you're doing?" he'd say, venomously polite. Then Watari would appear, all smiles and icy eyes, and drag the culprit away.

A door opens and closes in the distance– no, that's not right. The door is in front of him, the sound of it muted by the thundering of his pulse. The floor passes beneath Yahaba's feet, another door opening and closing– then silence.

"Oi, Shigeru," Futakuchi says, squeezing Yahaba's arms and shaking him– just twice. "Breathe already, man."

Yahaba forces his lungs to comply, sucking in a breath. He exhales slowly, letting the adrenaline fade.

"Also, Watari's here."

"Shigeru, you okay?" Watari asks.

Yahaba doesn't have an answer.

"If you wanna end the event here, just say the word."

Biting his lip, Yahaba shakes his head– he realizes he's still hidden by fabric. His fingers finally register that his protective blanket is a leather jacket.

"No," Yahaba says tightly. "As long as the asshat is gone, I'm good to go. I just... need a m-minute." He curses his stumble over the last word.

Watari sighs. "I can get you ten–"

"Make it five." Yahaba laughs weakly, fingers smoothing over leather. He takes another deep breath, making his voice sound steadier than he feels. "Five is plenty."

"... If you say so."

The door opens and closes, leaving Yahaba alone with Futakuchi. 

Well, Futakuchi and a jacket.

Yahaba inhales slowly once more, identifying the jacket's smell–

Leather and musk, with notes of coconut and cucumber.

_Oh fuuuuck._

He finally pulls the jacket off his head, staring at it like it's burned him. When he gets around to looking up, he finds that he's back in the bathroom from earlier.

"There you are," Futakuchi says. "I was wondering when you'd come out of your shell."

Yahaba turns his head slowly to face Futakuchi and tries to glare. "Very funny," he says, gaze dropping back to the jacket in his hands. He rotates it, finding the collar and holds it up in front of him, examining it in the light. _What kind of guy does it belong to?_

He swallows, turning back to Futakuchi. "Did–" the words get stuck in his throat– "Did you see whose jacket this is?"

Futakuchi smirks. "Mayyyybe."

"Kenji. Some asshole tries to steal my mask, threatening my privacy, and _this_ is how you're repaying me?"

Futakuchi blinks. "What, you want me to give you a play by play of what happened?”

"No, but can you at least tell me what he looks like?" Yahaba tries his doe eyes, pleading for an answer–

"Fine." Futakuchi rolls his eyes. "Besides the odd hair dye job, he totally looks like your type."

Yahaba groans, burying his face in the jacket. Which, on second thought, is probably a terrible idea– the smooth coconut, cucumber and leather are doing bad things to his heart.

"Seriously, are you ok?" Futakuchi says, mirth replaced with genuine concern.

"No." Yahaba looks Futakuchi dead in the eye. "This jacket smells fucking amazing, I'm hella gay, and whoever this belongs to–" he shakes the jacket loosely– "probably isn't."

The almost frown on his friend's face shifts into a dangerous smirk. "Oh, so you're having a gay crisis now, too?"

"Shut up." Yahaba feels the blush bloom on his cheeks, too warm given how numb he was just minutes ago. He lowers the jacket, folding it in half over one arm and uses his free hand to fix his hair.

Futakuchi sighs. "You're a mess," he says, coming to stand next to Yahaba. "Give me that." He pulls the jacket out of Yahaba's hands, unfolding it and holding it up to Yahaba's back. "Take off the sweater."

"Huh?"

"I'm trying to help you, here." Futakuchi shakes the jacket impatiently. "So what if this guy isn't gay. Wear his jacket back out there and make him question his sexuality."

Yahaba blinks, barely hesitating before tugging the lilac sweater over his head. "Kenji, you might be a genius."

"I _am_ a genius. And hurry up, it's already been five minutes."

"Watari probably asked for ten anyway," Yahaba grumbles, making sure his shirt is still neatly tucked into his jeans. He slides his arms into the jacket sleeves, Futakuchi holding them up for him, and faces the mirror, fixing his hair once more.

"You're lucky he did." Futakuchi carefully folds Yahaba's sweater, placing it in a Tsutaya paper bag. He pulls out a spare black mask and lets Yahaba put it on. "Now go get his number, you disaster."

Yahaba smiles. "Lemme take him to dinner first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments help fuel updates! i'd love to know your favorite line, if you’re liking the story and characterization so far ^^
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)
> 
> Next time: Kyoutani POV!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shigeru takes a good minute to scrawl in Kyoutani’s notebook. “Say, Kyoutani-kun.” He fans the ink before carefully pressing the cover closed. “I still owe you for the jacket… Are you free after this?”
> 
>  _What._ “Uh, yeah?”
> 
> “Then I’ll be borrowing your jacket for a bit longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all so much for reading, kudosing, commenting, and subscribing! It really means a lot to know yall are enjoying the story! 
> 
> That being said: I've caught up to my current progress in terms of finished chapters, so updates will move to **every other week**. This way, I have more time to write and bring you content that I'm also happy with! thanks for understanding.
> 
> I really love this chapter, and hope yall do too. Enjoy!
> 
> minor content warning for alcohols. This is a college au, and they're all in their second year, so they're all of age.
> 
> edit 11/05/19: Now with [art](https://twitter.com/AmalasRosa/status/1191822514642702336?s=20) by the lovely [AmalasRosa](https://twitter.com/AmalasRosa)!

_Sunday_

Kyoutani doesn’t remember moving.

One second he's just in line, holding his journal and waiting for his turn to chat with _ShigeruSound,_ the next second he's stepping out of said line because what the _fuck_ does that guy think he's doing, trying to remove Shigeru's mask–

Kyoutani won't get there in time to stop the jerk, but he can sure as hell prevent him from revealing Shigeru's face. So he lunges forward, out of line, tossing his jacket to act like a smokescreen.

The leather lands over Shigeru without a sound, enveloping his face and blocking it from the jerk's view.

A moment passes, in which Shigeru's black mask drifts down to the floor, and Shigeru's friend– the one that's been helping with fan pictures– starts ushering him away.

Words spew forth from Kyoutani's mouth in a snarl. "Respect his privacy, _shithead."_

The shithead whirls on Kyoutani, mouth open in fury– and flinches upon seeing him.

Shigeru's dark haired friend stalks forward, digging a hand into the jerk's shoulder and clamping it into a vice grip. "Not so fast," he says, his tone polite with a vicious edge. "Trying to run after that stunt you pulled? Did you forget your _place?"_ He points to the ceiling– directly at a security camera.

The shithead makes a grab for his phone and fails as two Tsutaya employees arrive, each grasping an arm.

"Just a minute," Shigeru's friend says, fingers moving rapidly across the phone screen before reluctantly handing over the device. One of the Tsutaya employees takes it, and they escort the shithead over to the elevator and out of sight.

Kyoutani lets a sigh escape.

"Thank you for that," Shigeru's friend addresses Kyoutani warmly. "That could've been a lot worse."

Kyoutani shrugs. "Doubt he even thought it through," he says bitterly. Shifting from foot to foot, he continues. "Just wanted to make trouble."

"The worst kind," the other guy agrees. "Good thing Futakuchi didn't end up taking any photos." A glint takes shape in his eye, and he leans closer to Kyoutani. "I factory reset the phone," he says, smirking. "He'll have fun with that."

Kyoutani snorts, gaze flicking to the doorway where Shigeru had disappeared– a Tsutaya guy comes through, one with a buzzcut. He walks over to the small group of them that are left and drops into a quick, elegant bow.

“Thanks for your patience,” he says politely. “Shigeru’s taking a short break. He’ll be back out in a few minutes to meet you and sign anything you have for him– no more photos, though.” Turning to Kyoutani, he offers a smile. “We were able to handle everything much more smoothly, thanks to you.”

The praise has Kyoutani biting his lip. He inclines his head in a nod. “It’s nothin’.”

"I'm Ennoshita, by the way." Shigeru's friend holds out his hand.

After a moment's hesitation, Kyoutani tucks his lyric journal under his other arm and shakes it. "Kyoutani," he says gruffly, blinking as he recognizes the name. "Shigeru films in your studio?"

Ennoshita laughs, eyes crinkling. "It's really _our_ studio," he admits. "Shigeru thinks he uses it less than I do, which somehow makes it mine?" 

Kyoutani lets out a thoughtful, “Mm.”

Thankfully Ennoshita takes the hint, stepping away and busying himself on his phone. He seems totally unfazed by Kyoutani not wanting to talk–

Kyoutani’s shoulders sag in relief. His attention drops back to his journal, finger twanging the fabric strap holding the cover closed. The lyrics from his new song float through his mind, and he toys with ideas for the key of the bridge, only to be interrupted by the sound of a door.

Blinking back to the present, Kyoutani turns his head towards the noise. 

Shigeru is arm in arm with his friend, laughing behind his mask, and he’s _wearing Kyoutani’s jacket._

The familiar black leather sits slightly askew on Shigeru’s shoulders. It frames his crisp white dress shirt, the hem resting below his waist.

Kyoutani's heart trips, flailing madly around his ribcage– and, as Shigeru approaches him, jumps into his throat. 

_Fuck fuck fuck_

“Thank you for earlier,” Shigeru greets, eyes bright. “Do you throw jackets over people’s heads often?”

Kyoutani raises an eyebrow. “No?” 

“I guess that makes me an exception.” Shigeru chuckles. “Would you like me to sign that?” He points to Kyoutani’s journal, tugging the sleeves of the jacket up to free his hands. 

Fumbling with the journal, Kyoutani opens it to the inside cover and holds it out to Shigeru.

Shigeru clicks a pen, the tip hovering above blank, beige paper. “What name should I put in the note?”

“Kyoutani.”

“Do you have a first name that goes with that?” Shigeru peers up from the journal, his brown eyes sparkling. 

Kyoutani blinks. _He’s getting that personalized of a note?_ “Kentarou,” he says after a moment. “It’s Kentarou.” 

Shigeru takes a good minute to scrawl in Kyoutani’s notebook. “Say, Kyoutani-kun.” He fans the ink before carefully pressing the cover closed. “I still owe you for the jacket… Are you free after this?”

_What._ “Uh, yeah?”

“Then I’ll be borrowing your jacket for a bit longer,” Shigeru says. He hands the journal back to Kyoutani, waves, and moves on to greet the remaining fans. 

The leather is warm under Kyoutani’s hands. He flips the cover open, revealing Shigeru’s note– written in clean script.

> To Kentarou–
> 
> Not all heroes wear capes– apparently the latest fad is leather jackets! But seriously, thank you. I’m grateful you made it out here today. Not just for telling off that asshat, but for being a fan and listening to my music. I wish you the best of luck with your music, whatever form it takes. 
> 
> Shigeru

Kyoutani snaps the notebook closed. His feet amble towards the empty cafe, and he sinks into a chair, placing his journal on the table. If he thought it was valuable before, it feels infinitely more priceless now– 

He wonders if the flush on the back of his neck and heart-in-his-throat are signs of impending spontaneous combustion.

As the small cluster of people waiting to meet Shigeru dwindles to zero, Kyoutani’s flush dissipates. The disbelief and anticipation, on the other hand, linger in Kyoutani’s shaky hands and impatient feet. He avoids scuffing his shoes on the floor, opening up his lyric journal again instead. He stares at the ink on the page, hardly believing it to be real.

“Hey,” Shigeru says, shuffling to a stop beside Kyoutani’s table. 

Kyoutani snaps his journal shut and looks up. 

Shigeru has changed clothes once again– he’s got a white mask on now, and wears a maroon Tokyo Arts University T-shirt underneath Kyoutani’s jacket. 

_Fucking hell, they both go to TAU–_

“You hungry?”

Kyoutani looks away from Shigeru and his distractingly pretty eyes. He inclines his head in a sharp nod.

“Great. Let’s go get some sukiyaki– my treat.”

And just like that, Kyoutani’s gaze is pulled back. “Okay,” he says quietly. He swallows, forcing his heart back into his ribcage, and gets to his feet. 

*

One elevator ride, a five minute walk, and another short elevator ride later, Kyoutani stands before a semi-private booth in the sukiyaki restaurant. Within the span of those few blocks, Kyoutani is introduced to Shigeru’s other friend, Futakuchi, a loudmouth journalism student at TAU. Ennoshita slides in first, offering Kyoutani the outer seat. Futakuchi takes the seat opposite Ennoshita, leaving Shigeru the seat across from Kyoutani. 

Shigeru leans over the table towards Kyoutani, holding his hand up around his mouth like he’s about to whisper. “Be glad you’re not sitting across from him,” he says, jerking his thumb at Futakuchi. “He likes to run his mouth, even when it’s full of food.” 

Kyoutani's eyebrows shoot up. He turns to Ennoshita. “Good luck in the splash zone,” he deadpans, catching Futakuchi’s jaw drop in his peripheral– and is wholly unprepared for Shigeru’s laugh. 

The sound isn’t even remotely musical, but it echoes like lyrics in Kyoutani’s eardrums nonetheless. 

Shigeru clutches his sides. “Holy shit, the splash zone,” he snickers, leaning out of the way as Futakuchi tries to slap his shoulder. 

“Careful.” Ennoshita flips open a menu, perusing the course selections– trying to hide a smile. “Or he’ll target you instead.” He glances pointedly at Shigeru before addressing Kyoutani. “The main course looks good. How do you feel about the soup and drinks?”

_Right. He should look at the menu._

Kyoutani pages through laminated paper, eyes widening at the options. There’s a pork bone broth, kimchi soup base and soy-collagen broth– and two pages full of drinks as part of the all-you-can-drink deal.

“Kimchi broth.” Futakuchi smirks, resting his chin in his palm. 

Shigeru narrows his eyes. “I want the pork bone one.” 

“Chikara, back me up, here,” Futakuchi says. 

Ennoshita reaches over the table to Futakuchi’s menu, flipping it to the next page. “You don’t need backup. See?” He points to the yin-yang graphic. “They have the dual-soup pots, you fool.”

Futakuchi takes Ennoshita’s hand, his smirk softening into a smile. “I’m your fool, though.”

Kyoutani blinks at the extended physical contact, watching a blush rise on Ennoshita’s face– and looks away. 

“Oi, lovebirds,” Shigeru interjects. “Cool it– the stove isn’t even on yet.” He turns to Kyoutani. “Nomihoudai* work for you?”

“Mm.” Kyoutani grunts an assent, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He stares at the menu some more, skimming through the alcohol list again and pausing over the yuzu sour. 

He’s startled by the appearance of their server– Ennoshita or Futakuchi must’ve pressed the call button when he wasn’t looking. 

Shigeru puts in the sukiyaki order, requesting the dual-soup pot and the standard course with all-you-can-drink for the four of them. He lets Kyoutani lead off the drink orders, Kyoutani’s yuzu sour followed by Ennoshita’s pickled plum sour, a ginger highball for Futakuchi and an apple mojito for himself. 

Their server bows and shuffles away, leaving them in a conversation void– Futakuchi is quick to fill it.

"So, Kyoutani, are you in school?"

The word choice has Kyoutani bristling, but the lack of bite in Futakuchi's tone convinces him to answer. "Yeah." He swallows. "I'm in my second year at TAU."

"You're at TAU too?" Ennoshita smiles. "I'm a film student, and Shigeru, well, you can probably guess–"

"Music composition studies," Shigeru says. "Which track are you on?"

Kyoutani feels something in him threaten to explode with the information that he and Shigeru not only attend TAU together, but are even in the _same department–_ he needs to answer the goddamn question. "Music therapy."

He's met with surprised stares, and tries to avoid grimacing at the attention. Does he need to elaborate–

"Damn, that's cool," Futakuchi grumbles, slouching over the table only to perk up again. "Drinks incoming!"

Sure enough, their server reappears, balancing a platter with their drinks on it. A different server emerges from behind them, placing the dual-soup pot on the burner on the table along with wooden boxes with the raw meats and vegetables. They produce another platter, this one with bowls of steaming rice and dipping sauce– and find room for them on the table. The tabletop burner beeps to life, and their server lets them know their hundred minutes of all-you-can-eat-and-drink has officially started.

"Cheers?" Ennoshita snags his drink, raising it halfway towards a toast.

Kyoutani curls his hand around the angled glass of his cup, lifting it off the table only for it to slip out of his fingers because _Shigeru took off his mask–_

"You okay?" Shigeru looks at Kyoutani over the rim of his mojito glass, concern lining his eyes–

Fucking hell, Kyoutani is most certainly _not_ okay– not when he's just been blindsided by Shigeru and his really pretty cheekbones– 

"Yeah." He chokes out the lie, wiping his hand on his napkin and picking up his glass once more. "Cheers?"

"Kampai!" Shigeru clinks his glass into the fray, knocking into Futakuchi and Ennoshita's drinks before making a slight, separate toast in Kyoutani's direction.

Kyoutani manages a mostly not-shaky return toast, sipping his yuzu drink.

"Do you wanna start with beef?" Futakuchi asks Ennoshita, pulling over the wooden platter and shoving some vegetables into the kimchi broth. He shoves the rest haphazardly into the pork bone broth side, pressing down with chopsticks as the soup starts to froth.

Shigeru passes the platter with beef flank over to Ennoshita and turns to Kyoutani. "Do you mind cooking, or...?"

"S'fine." Kyoutani swipes the platter with raw pork spare ribs, using his chopsticks to place four slices into the soup broth. They'll be cooked through in under a minute– he watches the pink fade under the soup's surface, and nods to Shigeru when its done.

The next steps are easy: pull the pork and veggies out of the broth, dunk them in the dipping sauce, and enjoy them over rice. Kyoutani does just that, savoring the flavors that burst over his tongue– rinse and repeat until the meat is gone.

"This is. So good," Shigeru declares, finishing off his drink. "Refills, yeah?" He gestures to their glasses, which at this point are mostly full of ice.

Ennoshita's expression settles into an easy smirk. "Already on it," he says, peering over his shoulder just as their server appears from around the corner.

"Should we order just seconds?" Futakuchi slurps up a piece of beef, chasing it with the rest of his drink.

Kyoutani inches one eyebrow up in disbelief. "Seconds? I think we need fourths, at least." 

Shigeru's answering smile makes his throat go dry.

* 

The four of them stumble from the restaurant a little after seven thirty, traipsing past the crowd waiting for tables in the entrance and piling back into the elevator. Kyoutani punches the button for the ground floor, leaning back against the elevator wall and watching the floor numbers tick down from six.

They stop at the fourth floor to let in a bunch of students– in high school, based on their uniforms. They crowd in, giggling and chatting as the doors slide shut. 

A few more people pile in from the third floor, the students shifting back to make space– Shigeru squishes into Kyoutani’s side, glancing down to meet Kyoutani’s eyes. He reaches across Kyoutani to jam the ‘door close’ button repeatedly.

Kyoutani snorts a quiet laugh. He fights to keep the blush off his face, but the aftermath of the alcohol makes that hopeless. Down arrows flash on the tiny elevator screen, accompanied by the number ‘2’ and the car slowing to a stop.

This time Kyoutani’s thumb digs into the ‘door close’ button, holding it down even as the doors shudder open. Thankfully, no one boards– and the elevator is free to climb down one more floor.

The doors slide back, crowd emptying onto the sidewalk. The four of them make their escape at last.

Futakuchi rolls his eyes, sticking out his tongue at the now empty space. _“Fuck_ elevators. Let’s never do that again, Chikara.”

Shigeru shrugs, fiddling with the straps of his mask. “It wasn’t _that_ bad,” he says, and looks pointedly at Kyoutani. “The company was nice.” 

Kyoutani grumbles, turning away to hopefully hide the embarrassment burning his cheeks. He pulls out his phone and fiddles with the maps app, trying to figure out which trains he needs to take to get home. 

The route glows with the lavender of the Hanzomon subway line. It's the one where he doesn't have to switch trains at all– just a half hour ride and short walk and he'll be back at his apartment.

He yawns, pocketing his phone, and turns back to Shigeru. "Thanks for dinner," he says, sinking as much gratitude as he can into those few words.

"Lemme stop you there." Shigeru waves a hand loosely. "If anyone should be thanked tonight, it's you." He pats the shoulders of Kyoutani's jacket, which he's _still wearing–_ and his eyes light up. "Hey Kenji, can you get a photo of us?"

Shigeru passes his phone to Futakuchi and hooks his hand around Kyoutani's arm, leading him across the street. They come to a stop in front of a restaurant lit by strings of paper lanterns. Shigeru props his elbow up on Kyoutani's shoulder and leans in close. "Since you didn't get one earlier," he says.

_What._

"Alright." Futakuchi fiddles with Shigeru's phone– presumably with the camera settings– before offering a thumbs up. "Smile and wave, boys."

Ennoshita bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, Kenji. Seriously?"

Shigeru chuckles, eyes shut as he shakes with laughter.

Kyoutani doesn't quite get it, but finds himself grinning along anyway.

The shutter sounds _click_ in the distance. "See, Chikara? It works every time."

"Only because _I_ laugh at it."

"Exactly."

When Shigeru's laughs finally subside, he steps over to a smug-looking Futakuchi. "Kenji, I swear, if you took selfies instead of the actual photos–"

Futakuchi snorts, handing over the phone. "See for yourself."

Shigeru swipes across his phone screen, eyes widening. "Hey, Kyoutani, you've got LINE?"

Kyoutani blinks. "Yeah?"

"Lemme add you so I can share the photos with you."

Kyoutani's heart leaps back into his throat. _Fuck fuck fuck–_ "Okay," he manages gruffly, pulling out his phone and opening up the LINE app. He promptly forgets where the QR code reader is, and futzes through the menus until he finds it. Swapping the scanner to display his own code, he extends the screen towards Shigeru, willing his hand not to tremble–

Shigeru holds his phone over the code, just long enough for the reader to register it, and–

_Bzz._

Kyoutani stares at the notification on his screen.

**Yahaba Shigeru has added you as a friend by QR code.**

The spontaneous combustion feeling is back, settling uncomfortably between Kyoutani's ribs.

**Yahaba Shigeru has shared 3 photos.**

Kyoutani opens the photos and swipes through them one by one. He isn't looking at the camera in any of them– neither of them are. Shigeru is laughing, one arm resting on Kyoutani's shoulder, the other clutching the front of the jacket, and Kyoutani is–

Kyoutani is staring right at Shigeru, smiling–

_Oh._

It's one thing for him to know he's gay. 

Having photographic evidence of how gay he is– with his favorite YouTuber, no less– right there on his phone… is another.

Now Kyoutani feels the need to hide _his_ face under his jacket. And go home, so he can wake up from this dream of a day.

"I should get going," he mutters, shoving his phone away. The station is a short walk up the street–

"Shibuya station?" Ennoshita asks, linking arms with Futakuchi. "We're heading that way too."

The four minutes it takes to reach the station pass quickly– and loudly, given Kyoutani's spluttering thoughts and thundering pulse. They come to a stop in the lit interior, people flowing around and past them–

"Here's your jacket." Shigeru folds the leather neatly before holding it out to Kyoutani. "Thank you again."

Kyoutani shoves his hands in his pockets, looking away. "Keep it." 

Shigeru takes a small step back in surprise. "No, no. _You_ need to keep it," he says adamantly, stepping forward and draping the leather over Kyoutani's arm. "Just in case I need it next time." He offers a wave, heading up the stairs to the JR platform with Ennoshita and Futakuchi.

Kyoutani traipses towards the escalators to take him down to the Hanzomon line platform. The wind blasts up from underground– he hastily makes his way down and onto the train before the doors shut, sinking into an empty seat.

_Next time._

He reaches around to his lyric journal, tucking it securely into his jacket pocket and zipping it closed. Leaning his head back against the wall, he trains his eyes on the tunnel lights beyond the car doors, and lets the metro carry him home.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nomihoudai - Japanese for "all you can drink"  
> also, yuzu is a citrus fruit! 
> 
> comments help fuel updates! i'd love to know your favorite line, if you’re liking the story and characterization so far ^^
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)
> 
> Next time: back to Yahaba POV!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ennoshita jabs Yahaba in the chest with his free hand. “Enough of your moping. Message him. Right now.”
> 
> Yahaba’s mind short circuits. “Are you kidding?” He crosses his arms, keeping his hands away from his pockets– away from temptation and the anxiety hiding beneath it.
> 
> Futakuchi rolls his eyes. “Who are _you_ kidding?” he says. “He isn’t going to know you wanna talk to him if you don’t, you know, _talk.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello n welcome back! Again, thanks so much for reading, kudosing, commenting, and subscribing! It really means a lot to know yall are enjoying the story! 
> 
> Gentle reminder that i've moved updates to **every other week**. This way, I have more time to write and bring you content that I'm also happy with! thanks for understanding.
> 
> introducing: texting shenanigans! It's supposed to all be in the LINE app, where they'd all be using their full names. That being said, I hope you enjoy the mild chatfic-y elements i've thrown in for fun :D

_Wednesday_

The metro car sways along the tracks, and Yahaba sways with it. One hand curls around one of the grey straps hanging from the baggage racks, steadying him as the train rounds a curve in the Tokyo underground. His other hand clutches his phone, open to the LINE group message between him, Futakuchi, and Ennoshita.

Ennoshita’s head lolls on Futakuchi’s shoulder, eyes closed and earbuds in– dead to the world– so Futakuchi is the only one responding at the moment.

Yahaba had let them take the pair of seats that opened up early into their morning commute. Usually just single seats open up, and they let him have those– this morning _they_ got lucky. 

**Chat: we dem boyz(3)**

**Yahaba Shigeru 09:41**

Kyoutani still hasn’t messaged me.

Yahaba squeezes in another minute of shuteye before a telltale _ping_ shoots through his earbuds. He blinks, waking up his phone to read Futakuchi’s response.

**Futakuchi Kenji 09:43**

Jacket guy? 

it’s only been.. what, two days?

**Yahaba Shigeru 09:44**

exACTLy

its been 2 days

i deadass flirted with him

where r my results

**Futakuchi Kenji 09:44**

*inhales*

bOI

**Yahaba Shigeru 09:44**

kENJI

**Futakuchi Kenji 09:45**

the only person that should be screaming my name like that, even over text, is Chikara.

and ffs yaha-kun we’ve been over this

he’s probs still in shock over:

1) meeting u

2) having dinner with us (you)

3) getting ur LINE

**Futakuchi Kenji 09:46**

4) having a "somewhat famous" person flirt with him

**Yahaba Shigeru 09:46**

excuse u those quotes don't need 2 b there

**Futakuchi Kenji 09:47**

ur not *that* famous ok yaha-kun

but srsly u need 2 chill tf out

did u forget he's also a student here ?

so u know he got classes and hw and shit

he's just busy

**Yahaba Shigeru 09:48**

…

u think the flirting made him uncomfortable?

**Futakuchi Kenji 09:48**

if anything u were too suave

so yeah, maybe

**Yahaba Shigeru 09:49**

dhfsjdfkf

Yahaba bites his lip, frowning down at his phone. Closing his eyes once more, he thinks back to Sunday– Sunday with Kyoutani and his jacket and his _goddamn eyeliner–_

_Ping._

**Futakuchi Kenji 09:50**

yaha-baka

stop overthinking it 

he was able 2 step in when someone tried to make u do an unwanted face reveal

he’d probs do or say something if he was uncomfy

Yahaba leans back on his heels, considering. Aside from the insult, Futakuchi’s words have merit– he takes a deep breath, feeling his shoulders relax on the exhale. 

He glances up at the screen above the metro doors, watching the stations until Ueno count down. They pass Otsuka Station, then Sugamo– by Tabata, Yahaba’s mind is lost to the music echoing in his earbuds. It’s safe to say he’s startled out of a daze by another _ping–_ this one from Ennoshita. 

**Ennoshita Chikara 09:58**

im here what did i miss

Yahaba…

**Ennoshita Chikara 09:59**

i’ll just talk to you when we get off the train

Sure enough, the metro hisses to a stop, the intercom announcing they’ve arrived at Ueno station. Yahaba curls and uncurls his hand, loosening the fingers that held him steady for a good half hour.

Once they’re off the platform, Ennoshita snags Yahaba’s elbow– Yahaba pops an earbud out, twirling it around his finger. “Yeah?”

Ennoshita jabs Yahaba in the chest with his free hand. “Enough of your moping. Message him. Right now.”

Yahaba’s mind short circuits. “Are you kidding?” He crosses his arms, keeping his hands away from his pockets– away from temptation and the anxiety hiding beneath it.

Futakuchi rolls his eyes. “Who are _you_ kidding?” he says. “He isn’t going to know you wanna talk to him if you don’t, you know, _talk.”_

“Just ask him about his week or tell him about yours.” Ennoshita shrugs, offering Yahaba a sleepy smirk. “One or both of those should get you started.”

The crosswalk chirps at them, indicating they can cross the road. They amble over to the edge of Ueno park, finding the path that will let them cut over to campus when Ennoshita digs his heels in. “Now,” he says, glaring pointedly at Yahaba. “Before I hold you hostage in the park and make us late for class.”

Yahaba swallows. Clammy hands withdraw his phone from his pocket, and he swipes over to his LINE messages. _What should he say?_ He starts typing, only to backtrack once, twice, five times. 

_Good morning_ sounds too blase. A _how’s your week been_ feels too sudden. _Hey, wanna get lunch?_ could work, but maybe that’s too forward…

He goes with neutral honesty– and sends each thought on its own line out of habit.

**Chat: Kyoutani Kentarou**

**Yahaba Shigeru 10:09**

so not looking forward to class today

i’ve got my music form n analysis lecture

prof has no appreciation for modern music

ughhhhhhhh

i need coffee

Yahaba closes the app, shoving his phone away. “Fine. I messaged him, are you happy now?”

Futakuchi raises an eyebrow. “No. But we will be once you get a response from him and stop moping over him not talking to you.” He turns, heading into the park, bumping shoulders with Ennoshita on the way–

Yahaba puts his free earbud back in, restoring balance to his music and quickens his pace to catch up with them. He manages a smile when he gets there, although there’s an edge of bitterness to it– one he knows they’ll overlook. 

His friends have helped him keep the loneliness at bay, but even they don’t know how deep it stretches. Living with them for the past year has worked wonders. The fact that he’s essentially third wheeling is irrelevant– for the most part, anyway. It hasn’t stopped Yahaba from wanting something like what they have.

The three of them make it through the campus gates and are quick to part ways– the film and journalism departments are more toward west campus. Ennoshita and Futakuchi wave a casual goodbye, and Yahaba meanders over to the campus conbini. He snags a fresh cold brew, hastily paying with his IC card* before heading towards the music building. 

He’s two thirds of the way there when his music fades out of his earbuds, overwritten by two short _pings_. 

Yahaba freezes with his coffee halfway to his mouth. He lowers his hand, swapping the coffee to his left before withdrawing his phone from his pocket. The screen glints with the current time and the LINE app icon–

_Oh god._

He carefully brushes his thumb over the unlock button, opening up his messages, and–

**Kyoutani Kentarou 10:31**

did u get ur coffee yet

btw here’s the guest speaker at today’s lecture

**Kyoutani Kentarou has shared a photo.**

Yahaba’s fingers tap on the photo, allowing the once-blurry image to transform into the interior of a classroom, with a fluffy white dog sitting in a chair. The dog’s tail is a blur, thumping against the cloth seat, and its tongue hangs out, lolling happily. 

Yahaba feels his lips curl up into a smile. The dog is cute– he supposes he can trade a photo back. 

Glancing around, he walks closer to the gardens by the music buildings and holds his coffee cup up against a green, leafy backdrop. Tapping the screen to focus the camera, he snaps the photo and shares it in the chat.

**Yahaba Shigeru 10:32**

i did acquire my coffee. gotta love cold brew 

cute guest speaker

what’s their name ?

**Kyoutani Kentarou 10:33**

Chiyo-chan

**Yahaba Shigeru 10:33**

Chiyo, huh

chiyo-chan is speaking at a... music lecture ?

**Kyoutani Kentarou 10:34**

oh

im in my animal psych seminar rn

**Yahaba Shigeru 10:34**

so it’s an elective or..?

**Kyoutani Kentarou 10:35**

sort of

my major is music therapy 

but i’m doing research on its relation to vet science n animal therapy

its part of this joint program with UTokyo

**Yahaba Shigeru 10:36**

that’s.. incredible 

i wanna hear more about it after class

u free for lunch?

Yahaba pulls open the door to the music hall, wandering over to the central escalators. The dots flash next to Kyoutani’s last message in the chat, on and off– like he’s having trouble coming up with a response. Biting his lip, Yahaba walks down the hall to his classroom on the third floor, pushing open the door and taking his usual seat in the third row by the windows. 

Another minute passes, in which Yahaba pulls out his laptop and folder of notes, carefully eyeing his phone on the table. _Was lunch too desperate?_ But he really does want to see Kyoutani–

**Kyoutani Kentarou 10:38**

im not, gotta meet with my research prof

gdi

Yahaba stops biting his lip, expression thinning with disappointment. _Maybe later this week–_

**Kyoutani Kentarou 10:39**

study dinner in the music hall? 

i’ll get us bentos from maru’s

Yahaba blinks once, twice, then once more to confirm he’s read the messages correctly. Maru’s is the _really_ good bento place just outside the east campus gates– they’re swamped in the class breaks during lunch hours, and usually around dinner time as well. His fingers fly across the screen as he hurries to agree.

**Yahaba Shigeru 10:39**

imdone at 5

grab me a shrimp katsu and im there

**Kyoutani Kentarou shared a photo.**

Yahaba taps the image, letting it expand on his screen– it’s of Kyoutani high-fiving Chiyo’s paw. 

**Kyoutani Kentarou 10:40**

chiyo approves

see u soon

Yahaba feels a laugh bubbling up in his chest. He doesn’t want it to escape, so he keeps it in, letting the warmth linger. Turning his attention to his professor, who has just walked in– he resigns himself to surviving the lecture.

Having something to look forward to– or in his case, someone– makes all the difference.

*

Yahaba drums his fingers across the countertop, his eyes on the clock above the exit of the music library. He’s been resisting the urge to look too closely at it since he started his shift, and for the most part, hasn’t been anywhere near it– it was his turn for reshelving duty, so he was in the stacks for a while.

He’s been sitting at one of the tall chairs behind the counter by the main entrance, sort of off to the side so he isn’t bothered as much. Trying to get through one of the chapters his form and analysis professor assigned him to read before Friday… hasn’t really worked. Thankfully, the front desk has been pretty slow, and Misaki– one of his more friendly coworkers– has been handling student questions.

_16:57._

_Three more minutes._

It’s not like any more reading will actually get done in the next three minutes, so Yahaba slides his laptop into its case, packing it into his bag. He cinches the top shut and folds the top flap down, bobbing his head to the music pulsing through one earbud.

The peppy melody fades out momentarily, a crystalline _ping_ replacing it.

**Kyoutani Kentarou 16:58**

got the bentos. drinks?

Yahaba frowns, tilting his head in thought– _tea would be good._

**Yahaba Shigeru 16:59**

jasmine tea

the peach kind if they have it

He pushes back from the desk, shrugging his bag over his shoulder– phone still clutched in one hand. Saluting Misaki with a peace sign, he makes his escape.

Yahaba arrives at the practice hall in a blink. He glances around– Kyoutani is still nowhere to be seen– so he leans back against one of the marble columns out front, making himself reasonably comfortable while he waits. He locks his phone, using the dark screen as a mirror and fixes his hair with his free hand.

When he looks up, he spies Kyoutani ambling over on the path from the campus conbini– Yahaba’s lip quirks up into a smile, and he offers a wave.

Kyoutani holds a plastic bag in each hand– presumably one with the bentos and one with the cold drinks– and raises one of them, shaking it in a sort of return wave. He’s wearing a [ retro-looking colorblock jacket](https://spinns.fs-storage.jp/fs2cabinet/001/0016001-350691/0016001-350691-m-09-dl.jpg) over a light grey t-shirt, and loose black athletic pants with stripes running down the sides. His messenger bag is slung crossbody, headphones dangling loosely around his neck. He slows to a stop in front of Yahaba, and opens his mouth.

“Hey.”

Yahaba’s eyes are drawn to Kyoutani’s, amber framed by thin, winged eyeliner. “Hi,” Yahaba responds, his voice somewhere between suave and breathless– he hopes it’s closer to suave. 

“Were you waiting long?”

Yahaba shakes his head. “Nah, just got here from work.” He pulls open the door to the practice hall, holding it wide so Kyoutani can walk through and slips inside after him. 

Kyoutani steps to the side, waiting for Yahaba to fall into step with him. “You work on campus?”

“In the music library.” Yahaba shrugs. “Someone has to reshelve all the books, you know.”

“Mm.” 

They make a quick stop at the front desk, scanning the roster for available practice rooms. Yahaba pens his name in the first spot he finds, reserving two hours in a room on the third floor, and leads them up the main stairs. “Sometimes I even get to leave the desk to help people find things,” he continues, “though I do wonder why they can’t find them, since all the shelves are labeled.”

Kyoutani offers a thoughtful hmm. “Bad with directions?”

Yahaba snorts. He backs into the practice room door and holds it open, blindly finding the light switch and pressing. “The music library isn’t even big enough to get lost in.”

“Realllly bad with directions, then.” Kyoutani sets the bags on one of the tables, unpacking the bentos and slinging his messenger bag off his shoulder and onto the floor with a muffled _thud._ He places chopsticks on top of the plastic lids. The bottled drinks are quick to follow– Yahaba is surprised to see two peach jasmine teas.

He takes a seat, shrugging his bag into the empty seat beside him and pops the lid off his bento. The smell of the fried shrimp has his stomach growling.

“Go ahead.”

Yahaba looks up from the food, across the table to meet Kyoutani’s gaze. 

Kyoutani waves vaguely at the bento. “You eat, I’ll tell you about my program.”

Instead of eating together in silence, they can take turns talking– Yahaba smiles. “Thanks for the food,” he says, digging into the still-warm shrimp katsu. 

“The music therapy program is part of the musicology department,” Kyoutani says. “The courses vary between theory lectures and individual study, depending on what you’re interested in. UTokyo partners with TAU for some of the specialized study programs. The track I’m on is an interdisciplinary one–” he pauses, eyes flicking to Yahaba’s. 

Yahaba bites into another slice of katsu, carefully shoveling down a heap of rice after it– and meets Kyoutani’s eyes. He swallows, grabbing for his jasmine tea– and, after a few glugs, clears his throat. “Interdisciplinary? Fancy.”

Kyoutani snorts but doesn't comment. “My major is technically music therapy, but I’ll have a certificate from UTokyo in animal behavior and psychology by the time I graduate. And hopefully be published in a scientific journal or two, but that depends on how my research goes." 

Yahaba blinks. "Published," he echoes. The sentiment, sense of accomplishment when you put something of your own into the world– he knows that well. Still, he’s curious. “What about your journal?”

Kyoutani visibly freezes. It’s just for a moment, but Yahaba watches Kyoutani’s brow furrow, lips thinning into a frown as he considers what to say. “Not yet,” he eventually replies, the words smoothing out the frown. His eyes flit to Yahaba’s before darting elsewhere.

Cryptic– Yahaba kind of likes it. “I didn’t think I’d come here to study composition,” he admits.

Kyoutani pops the top off his bento, the twang of plastic accompanied by an eyebrow shooting up. 

“I figured I was sick of it after all my music competitions. It was always classical, classical, classical– it was all I knew, I was stuck there, and I was so _tired._ I was ready to throw it all away,” Yahaba explains. “But I realized I didn’t have to. Throw it away, I mean– I could use it to reinvent modern sound, compose for pop, hip-hop, rock... dive into other genres, find _my_ sound.”

Kyoutani crunches through his own katsu– slowly. He sips his tea before speaking. “Have you ever thought your classical training was a waste?” 

Yahaba barks a sharp laugh, surprised by Kyoutani’s bluntness. “Hell yeah, I have.” He glugs some more tea– the peach-jasmine tastes more bitter than sweet. “But those thoughts are wrong. Without that training, I wouldn’t be where I am now.” 

He bites his lip, finding those words to be too generic, and tries to continue. “It... gave me direction.” _There. That feels more accurate._ “If I didn’t have those years of practice– of knowing what I _didn’t_ want from music– it would’ve taken me a lot longer to get my YouTube channel going.”

Kyoutani finishes his bite of katsu but doesn’t move to take another. Instead, he sets his chopsticks down, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on them– and is quiet for a good minute.

Yahaba opens his mouth, ready to change the subject–

“When you…” Kyoutani pauses, grasping for words. “When you found your direction, how did it feel?” 

The change in the air is immediate. Goosebumps ghost over Yahaba’s arms, fading in the wake of the glimmer he sees in Kyoutani’s eyes. That glint… maybe it’s anticipation, or anxiety, or hope– Yahaba isn’t sure _what_ it is, but he knows that whatever he says in this moment _matters_. 

His Adam’s apple bobs, and he closes his eyes, drawing on the memory of that feeling– 

“Finding it… didn’t happen all at once. I knew I needed to go somewhere new, and once I took that first step to get there...” Yahaba relives that moment when he sat down to record his first cover. He blinks, and it’s like he just posted it– the video that launched the _ShigeruSound_ channel into existence– his chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. “It was so much easier to breathe.”

Kyoutani lets out a breath– or rather, a quiet snort, and– 

_Oh god._

Yahaba’s heart stutters in his chest– _Kyoutani is smiling._

“Must’ve been nice,” Kyoutani murmurs, voice thick with emotion, and Yahaba–

Yahaba clasps his hands together beneath the table, fingers tangling as his pulse races. He did good with words, for once– the edges of his mouth quirk up in an answering smile. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IC card: a charge card, more popularly known as a Suica or Pasmo card, that you can load money on. Works in train stations for metro fares, on buses, vending machines, and conbinis as well! 
> 
> Kyoutani's program as described here is entirely fictional - it's very loosely based on the description of the musicology program at the Tokyo University of the Arts. 'UTokyo' is an abbreviation for the University of Tokyo.
> 
> [Peach jasmine tea](https://www.amazon.com/Relax-PEACH-relax-pieces-Parallel/dp/B01N2K3ERJ) is delicious.
> 
> comments help fuel updates! i'd love to know your favorite line, if you’re liking the story and characterization so far ^^
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)
> 
> Next time: Kyoutani POV! + some characters that haven't been featured yet o.o


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